


Sweet as Summer, Dark as Night

by No_Caged_Bird (George_Hale)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coming of Age, F/M, First Time, Loss of Virginity, Resolved Sexual Tension, Revenge, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Underage Kissing, Underage Masturbation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:53:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 43,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26311441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/George_Hale/pseuds/No_Caged_Bird
Summary: Sansa Stark is living quietly as Alayne Stone on the Quiet Isle when she encounters an old friend...
Relationships: Sandor Clegane & Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 143
Kudos: 181





	1. Seasons of my Love

**Author's Note:**

> 'If Fire and Ice can burn, then love and hate can mate.' Jojen – A Storm of Swords.

Sandor trudged through the rain, the ground boggy beneath his feet – he was growing weary, and the wind howled and whipped at the land.

It was almost entirely dark now. Sandor was dropping off firewood to the cottages occupied by children and women. There were usually only a few cottages housing them at any given time, so he knew it would be short work.

Soon he would get out of the rain, dry up before a fire and get some stew for dinner. Stranger seemed eager to get out of the elements too. It had been a long day for both of them, and his flanks glistened with sea salt and heavy rain. He brayed rebelliously from time to time, but under his master's guidance, the war horse continued to pull the cart loaded with firewood along the rough-hewn path.

The cottages for women, children and the sick were to situated on the far side of the island. They were small, round structures made of clay. Sandor had to stoop to get inside them, almost double over. They were not built for men, and most certainly not men of his height.

Usually, he saw fit to dump the firewood outside the cottages but the nights were growing colder, and he wouldn't wish the fuel to get soaked on the ground, so he was knocking on each door as he passed.

At the last cottage, his knock went unanswered. He was loath to enter, he didn't wish to frighten a lame or sick person, nor make any women or children faint away from the sight of his fire-ravaged face.  
Still, after knocking heavily on the door yielded no response, he opened the barrier slightly, growing concerned that the occupant might be mortally wounded and in need of a maester.

He heard singing within - over the sounds of howling wind and the rain came such soft sweet notes. He had not talked with anyone in so long. All speech was discouraged in the quiet isles, and singing was rare.

He pulled his hood further up over his head, knowing that he was approaching a young woman and stepped further inside the cottage.

She was singing before a fire, seated facing away from him. He didn't mean to steal upon her or sneak, but he couldn't help listening in.

The song was familiar, or maybe it was the voice, he couldn't tell, he was sure he knew the lyrics from somewhere.

'I loved a maid as fair as summer,  
With sunlight in her hair.

I loved a maid as red as autumn,  
With sunset in her hair.

I loved a maid as white as winter,  
With moonglow in her hair.'

He felt like a brute interrupting this sweet song, but he could not linger. When he cleared his throat, the dark-haired woman jumped up from her seat, startled.

'Firewood' he rasped, in explanation, hanging his head low, his face hidden by the rough hood he wore.

'I thank you' she responded, again the voice was familiar to him, he did not look upon her face but could see that she held a sewing needle in her hand.

He wanted to ask about the song, ask where she knew it from, but he didn't dare. He didn't want to draw attention to himself.

She followed him out to the door, watched as he stooped on his way out. He thought that he was free to retire for the night at last when she suddenly spoke up again.

'Excuse me, this horse – can you tell me how you came by it?'

He froze in place, the voice suddenly registered, he turned back towards her and squinted through the darkness and rain.

'Sansa?'

'Is it you, Sandor Clegane? Is it you?' she demanded, he ducked back inside the cottage and removed his hood. She gasped with surprise, and he felt like maybe he'd died from his injuries after all as she smiled happily at the sight of him.

'How is it that you're here, little bird?'

'My father sent me here to do penance. I've been here twelve days, and I am to remain while he settles some business in the Eerie.'

'Your father? The dead are rising again now are they?'

'No.' she remarked sadly, shaking her head.

'I was told that there was a bastard girl named Alayne Stone here.'

'That is what Lord Baelish calls me. He says that I should keep hiding my true identity until I am married and safe.'

'Lord Baelish? Did he see fit to change your hair as well?'

'He did.'

'And he's who you call father these days?

'Yes, he tells everyone that I am his daughter. He married my Aunt Lysa in the Vale. She is dead now.'

'What happened?'

'He killed her' she responded quietly, Sandor shut the door at those words and beckoned her closer towards the fire.

'You're sure of this, are you?'

'Yes. Aunt Lysa saw him kiss me, she was so angry, and she was going to throw me out of the moon door.'

'He married her but kissed you?'

'Yes, I don't know why. Aunt Lysa and Littlefinger both seemed very happy together, at night they were so – so loud...'

Sandor shook his head, looking into the fire and then back at her with a strange light in his eyes. He was suddenly starting to recall her innocence, and he found it as unsettling as he did reassuring.

'My friend Myranda Royce thinks that I remind him of my mother. I heard that he loved her when they were children. That maybe he loves her still. He asked me to lie about how Aunt Lysa died, I did as he said I should.'

'She was a mad bitch, your aunt. I suppose that was not so hard a lie to spin.'

'The council believed us and my father is now the Lord of the Vale.'

'Stop calling him that! He might have bedded your aunt, but he's not your family, do you hear me?'

'Why are you so angry?'

'Because you're running out of family fast, girl. Don't you see that Baelish is not the right guardian for you?'

'He promised to find a suitable husband for me.'

'Suitable for him. He won't choose a match for you that doesn't suit his own needs, Sansa. He's a rat, always has been.'

'I am afraid of him. There are moments when I think he's not my friend at all. Other times, when he kisses me, I think maybe he would wish to do more.'

'There's no other way – I've got to get you out of here' Sandor declared suddenly, Sansa looked up sharply at his words.

'How?'

'I don't know yet. You refused to come with me on the night they burned the blackwater. Say you will come with me now.'

'I can't! Baelish arrives tomorrow with knights of the Vale. He wrote to tell me that he has purchased a new pleasure house in Lys. He wishes to take me there by ship. He says that I will be safe out there while he secures me a husband. If I am missing tomorrow morning, I'm sure they will find us before we can journey far.'

'I have not much coin either' he remarked, deep in thought and staring into the fire.

'Can you make it out there? To Lys?' she pressed, seeming inspired suddenly.

'It might take me time to find the silver for such a journey.'

'Take this as well' Sansa went into a nearby trunk and returned to him with a lovely gold necklace.

'Lannister gold.' he observed as she placed it into his massive hand.

'Joffrey gave it to me. The notion that it might bring you back to me again gives me hope. It has been such a wretched thing to me until now.'

He felt his heart swell at this admission, he pocketed it and then came another practical point.

'What will this pleasure house be called? Lys is said to be full of them.'

'I am not sure yet. Please come to drink wine at each around midnight – be wearing a black hood. I will find a way to speak to you. Do you have any other clothes?' she questioned, looking up at his rough spun tunic. All the monks on the island tended to wear the same thing. It was hardly inconspicuous.

'No.'

'I still have your cloak' she announced then, turning back to her trunk again, he was surprised but also scoffed this idea.

'I don't think I'll get far in my Kings Guard cloak, Sansa.'

'I dyed it green. No-one will know' Sansa smiled as she handed it over to him, he caught a floral aroma from it and shook his head in disbelief.

'Why is it that you kept this?'

'I can't say' she responded, looking a little bewildered by the question. Sandor shrugged at this response and tucked it away under his arm.

'Are you sure about this, Sansa?'

'If you are' she reasoned, he nodded and turned to walk away without another word. He paused briefly at the door though, thoughtful suddenly.

'That song you were singing, little bird. What was it called?'

'Seasons of my Love, it was played when Aunt Lysa married Baelish'

'Stay safe' he warned, finally and walked back out into the stormy night.

Sandor sat up most of the night pondering over the journey he had to make. He would not risk leaving the Isle the following day. Instead, Sandor would take his leave when Baelish and the Vale men were well clear of the place. Then he would travel to one of the other free cities and try and find her again.


	2. Honour your Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alayne sets sail for her new home in the Free Cities of Essos. Baelish describes the beauty of Lys, and assures Alayne that her bright future and virtue are inextricably linked.

Sansa was anxious throughout her voyage with Baelish and the knights of the Vale. Excusing her absence on the grounds of seasickness was believable enough. She had suffered from this during her journey to the fingers with Littlefinger, so it was a reasonable fabrication.

Sansa kept to her bunk and remained there undisturbed for the first twenty-four hours before Baelish summoned her to dinner.

He gestured for her to take a seat at the dining table and didn't seem offended when she turned pale at the sight of a roasted leg of lamb.

'So, you are still suffering from the swell, are you? Take some wine then, and some fruit. You must have some replenishment.'

Sansa accepted a glass of sweet wine from Baelish and settled into the seat left vacant for her, after nibbling at a fig to appease him she took a few tentative sips of wine. He watched her progress closely.

'There, that's a good child. That will give you strength. So, tell me, sweet daughter. To what, did you tend to while I was settling my business at the vale?'

'I sewed and mended clothes.'

'And what did you do when you were not working with your hands?'

'I prayed, my lord.'

'Yes, I'll warrant you did plenty of that. Tell me though, what did you find occasion to pray for?'

'Salvation of my soul and a quick ending to the wars. I also prayed that you would return to me before too long.'

'A very affectionate reply! I assure you, devoted daughter, I managed my affairs as quickly as possible. It was of your happiness alone that I tended to.'

'My lord?'

'Call me father, Alayne. You know how that pleases me.'

'What business did you attend to, father?'

'As I said in my letter, I purchased a fine property in Lys. A pleasure house that will cater to all tastes and is sure to return me ample coin. You will be safe there while I journey back to the Vale. Now that young Robert is secure in his inheritance. I would see to it that you are well settled too.'

'Settled?'

'Yes, after I have set up my pleasure house in Lys. I will next attend to the business of marriage. I think that I have found a suitable match for you at last, but there are still negotiations to make on your behalf. So you will have to be patient for me, you can do that, can't you, daughter?'

'I can.'

'Come here to me' he demanded then, pushing his chair away from the table and patting his lap for her to sit on.

She stood rather unsteadily, the ship rocked beneath her feet and she nearly stumbled as she reached Baelish. He laughed at this small journey she'd made and wrapped his arms about her, effectively locking her into place.

'You told me once, but I will ask you again to be certain, are you still a maid, Alayne?'

'Yes, father.'

'You know why I have to ask, don't you?'

'Yes.' she murmured, feeling queasy under his gaze, fighting the urge to shrink away from him as he turned her face towards him and placed a kiss on her mouth.

'It will affect my negotiations if you're not the innocent you seem to be. Many will have questions about your purity when they know that you were married to Tyrion Lannister.'

'He never touched me, my lord.'

'As you say, I will believe you, but others might not place so much faith in your word. You would not object to being examined, I suppose? I could instruct a maester to be brief about it, to preserve your dignity as much as can be...'

'I will submit to whatever you think best.'

'What did I ever do to deserve such an obedient and fair daughter? You favour your mother very much these days, Alayne. You're every bit the beauty that she was in her youth. How pleased she would be, to know that I was able to provide for you, to love you as my flesh...'

'But I am your flesh' Sansa murmured sweetly, earning herself another minty kiss from Baelish.

'That you are. You are the very image of the maiden herself, too. I wonder how a wine-drenched whore-monger like Tyrion Lannister was able to keep his hands off you? How it was that his cruel nephew managed it? I'll admit, Sansa. I feared for your safety when Joffrey broke your engagement and became betrothed to Margery. I feared for your virtue too. I thought for sure that Joffrey would take your innocence the same night that he took his Queen's. Young men tend to have vast appetites...'

'I am blessed that you saved me first.'

'T'was a blessing for both of us, I am sure. Eat some more now, won't you? We have a long journey ahead of us, and you grow so pale.'

'Yes, father.'

Sansa settled back into her seat and ate some slices of pear, she could tolerate the food well enough, but the wine and conversation were stirring her stomach.

'You will love Lys, I think, Alayne. Such a beautiful place, they call it Lys the lovely, did you know that?'

'I had heard that, yes.'

'The oceans are blue-green and filled with fish, the sun is always shining, there are palm trees everywhere, and the land is fertile. There will be many delicious fruits for you to sample there.'

Sansa smiled at this admission, managed to make it appear genuine. She saw Petyr's eyes flash at the gesture and could tell that it had pleased him.

'I have hired a sellsword to protect you at the pillow house, Sansa. I would ask that you stay under their guard and that you disclose your true parentage to no-one. Do not draw any unwanted attention to yourself, will you?'

'I do as you say, father.'

'I know it might be a fool's errand. A beauty like you is bound to be noticed by men, and women too will want to take you to their beds. A struggle I know for a happy child like you, but you must resist the urge to laugh, to talk and sing. You must be careful and then wait for me the way you waited so patiently on the Quiet Isles.'

'I can do that. I will sew, good father, and read. And speak to no-one.'

Littlefinger laughed at this promise and started cutting off slices of lamb, piling them onto his plate generously.

'I would not confine you like a prisoner, child. You can speak to the whores I employ if you grow lonely. They are born and bred to be obedient out there. Do not spend any time alone with the men I employ though, and don't ever consort with the customers, will you?'

'I never would...'

'I know, I can only imagine what you think of being kept in such an establishment, too. Still, Lys is a secure island, no-one there will be looking for Sansa Stark. It is a city governed by wealth instead of birth. Where a bastard girl and her industrious father can make their fortune in peace and tranquillity, eh?'

'It sounds ideal. I long to see it for myself.'

'And so you will before long. I will show you so much before you are married off, Alayne. I promise you that. You must just assure me again, that you will let no-one between your legs when we are apart?'

'I promise.'

'I need you intact, so many of our plans dearly depend on it.'

'I will honour you, father.'

'Yes, your husband will be a lucky man, Alayne. I have, in a way, come to envy him, this invisible suitor. What a sweet and doting wife he will have to tend to his needs, what supple young flesh he has to mould into the shape of his choosing. You will bear many sons, I can tell that about you.'

'It would be my dearest wish come true.'

'The Lysene are a beautiful people, too, Alayne. They have produced many famous beauties, so I am sure you will blend right in. Indeed, with your blue eyes, we could dye your hair silver or gold tomorrow, and you would look to have been born there.  
I must insist though that you keep your hair dark, like mine. People there must never for a second doubt that you are my bastard daughter, one whose virtue I cherish above all things. Will you try a little of this now?' Littlefinger dropped some meat onto a platter for her and watched as she swallowed some greasy strips of lamb to appease him.

'There, now. I think discussing our bright future has improved your appetite hasn't it, child?'

'I think it has.'

'As I told you before you must eat! Build up your strength, we have a long journey ahead of us, and I will require all your support and affection before I make the journey home again...'


	3. Fight for Beauty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor Clegane has joined the Second Sons. He has earned more than enough gold to book passage to Lys where he intends to seek out Sansa Stark again. Daario Naharis talks with him of future battles.

Sandor Clegane sat at the entrance to his tent, drinking wine and counting the coins he had accrued. All around him, the Second Sons were celebrating a recent victory. The sounds of raucous laughter, moaning and screaming filled the camp.

It was not yet sundown, but most of the soldiers were already drunk and taking women in the dust, Sandor didn't think much of his fellow sellswords.

Maybe it was being born second sons that made them both enterprising, and jealous by nature?  
He lived with an overwhelming resentment where his family was concerned, so it was surprising that he couldn't relate to them more.

They were all abrasive, heavy drinkers, arrogant, mean, driven by coin and fucking when they got the chance.

'Why is it that you don't celebrate with the other men?' Daario Naharis put to him, sitting down on a nearby stool and sipping deeply from his skin of wine.

'I prefer my own company.' he responded, sullen and trying not to give too much away.

'And you still wear that scarf about your face. Do you know what your brothers call you? The Stranger. With all the death and destruction you have left in your wake, it is quite fitting, no?'

'I've been called worse.' he confessed, shrugging.

'You don't sound like you were born in these lands.'

'Nor was I.'

'Tell me more about yourself. Who were you before you joined our ranks?'

'A killer.' he responded, taking some wine and staring darkly into Daario's eyes, eliciting a laugh from him.

'You've become my secret weapon. You played no small part in the siege on Yunkai. Yet your brothers say they do not trust you. You speak to no-one but me, you drop coin on nothing but wine. You don't take any of the followers to your bed. It confuses them.'

'As long as I'm winning battles, then who I fuck is of little consequence.'

'I was going to say that you seem to be a man after my own heart, but perhaps you simply have a wife somewhere?' Daario suggested, grinning. Sandor gave in and laughed at this notion.

'I have little enough to offer a woman, my name least of all.'

'With all the gold you are sure to earn in the Second Sons you could buy lands, a home too. Not all women care for names and titles.'

'A touching thought.' Sandor rasped sarcastically, as he packed the gold safely in his saddlebag.

'You appear to be preparing for a journey.'

'Aye, I intend to visit the pleasure houses of Lys.'

'Ah, so we are different then.'

'Why is that? You won't pay for cunt?'

'I fight for beauty, and I see that you fight for coin. That is something that you have in common with your brothers.'

'You fight for beauty?'

'Every man must have a code, what is yours?'

'I'm not a thief or a rapist, beyond that, I suppose I don't have a code.'

'Well, what you do live by makes you unusual. The second sons are sellswords, we earn our way in life – we fight for whoever pays the highest price. Still, many of my brothers believe that if they can take anything by force, then it is rightfully theirs.'

'Except you?'

'I will not rape a woman, nor will I not pay for her body either.'

Sandor stared at him dumbly, confused.

'I don't kill any man either. I'm not an assassin. I kill only those who would seek to kill me. The Gods gave men two things to entertain themselves with before they die. Fucking a woman who wants you and the thrill of killing a man who is trying to kill you first. There is no sport to be had in killing bystanders.'

'I've never had the luxury of killing or fucking for sport. I was not born a rich or powerful man.'

'And you think that I was?' Daario laughed long and loud and took a deep drink.

'I was born the son of an alcoholic prostitute. My mother sold me to the pits when I was still a boy. My master had trained me for fighting by the time I turned twelve. That was the year I killed my first man.'

'I was the same age.' Sandor reflected, feeling suitably humble now.

He had always been a dog, killing under orders of people he could not stand. He had found redemption since and now he was back to killing for gold. In the pits he had known some brief glory – he had earned his way to the Second Sons and now had enough gold to carry him to Lys.

He had killed any number of people that didn't deserve it, that could not defend themselves or fight properly. He had lost the taste for killing as a sport years ago. The fighting pits had given him a glimpse again, though had it not been for the coin he would never have fought there.

'You fought in the pits before joining us, I hear.'

'For a few moons.' Sandor admitted.

'I have lived by my own rules since earning my freedom. I have travelled the world. Seen many things, killed scores of men and fucked a thousand beautiful women. Now I command armies. If my mother could see what I became, eh?' Daario laughed.

'You've fucked a thousand women?' Sandor asked, doubtfully.

'At least, and every single one of them was wet and begging. Memories of their moaning will carry me into the afterlife someday.'

Sandor wanted to call Daario a liar, but for some unaccountable reason, he damn well believed him.

Daario was flamboyant and handsome, having a natural way with words. His long hair and trident beard, even his fingernails were dyed blue. He had daring eyes and a gold tooth flashing in his pirate smile. He was nothing if not cocky, and it seemed that confidence was well earned. Even the gold hilts of his blades resembled the bodies of naked, wanton women.

Despite himself, Sandor felt sudden, aching jealousy deep in his chest. No woman had ever wanted him. None of them had ever wanted him for any reason at all.

Earning glory and gold in the pits came with other benefits too. Sandor's prowess with a sword earned him a privilege he'd never known before. For the first time in his life, the cunt was free. He'd taken some when he was feeling backed up, too. Though he knew that it was merely custom, the women were not besotted with his bravery.

'I hope that you will not dedicate too many days to fucking the women of Lys. We still have fighting to do, Stranger.'

'When I've had a thousand of them, I'll fight by your side again.' Sandor intimated, drawing another throaty laugh from Daario.

'I fear I cannot wait that long. I have set my sights on a queen, and she is not so easily won over.'

'The dragon queen?'

'A rare beauty, I think I am in danger of falling in love with her. Silver–gold hair, violet eyes and a body worth countless deaths. What man could resist such a prize?'

Sandor recalled the way he'd once been drawn unwillingly to flaming red hair and sea-blue eyes. Men would do many great and terrible deeds for such women. That much was true.

'Not talked your way between her legs yet then?'

'Not yet. This dragon Queen requires action, and it would seem that I have not spilt enough blood in her name yet. I bring her flowers and the promise of great pleasure, but it is power she seeks.'

'How can I help with that then?'

'I have heard that she likes ships. If you help me capture the Meereneese Navy, then I will see that you earn your weight in gold.'

Sandor reflected on the rare beauty he was seeking in Lys, he hoped to the Gods that she was still there.  
It was then that it dawned on him that he had no idea where he should take her. His tent would never do. He might be a dirty dog himself, but the men surrounding him were proven animals, and he would never be able to leave her behind without his protection.

'Your Queen is merciful, has freed slaves and broken chains.'

'She is, and she has.'

'I do not go to Lys merely seeking pillow houses. I have been saving honour so that I might bring my young sister back to Meereen. I would not wish to leave her in the camp when I am away fighting. Would you see to it that she might serve in the Pyramid? She is of the pretty, delicate sort and she can sew and sing...'

'A wonder that you shared a mother then?' Daario laughed. Sandor smiled himself when he thought of the contrast between them.

'No, lucky for her she is nothing akin to me.'

'You are my best fighter, and I enjoy taking wine with you. I will ask that your sister be allowed an audience when you return. The Queen will decide for herself if she has a use for the girl. Do not leave me waiting long, Stranger. I am growing impatient to warm our Queen's bed.'

'I will stay until my coin runs out. We were not all born to charm our way between women's thighs.'

'You will have to become a rich man then, or maybe find a woman to love you?'

'I don't like my chances.'

'Take heart! Our Queen pays well at least. Who knows what the future will bring, Stranger. Enjoy the whores of Lys and watch the wine.'

'I've heard the rumours.' Sandor responded, Daario laughed and then went on his way.


	4. Fly Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is living in a pillow house in Lys with Petyr Baelish. She is still haunted by the same dreams she had in the Vale...

Sansa's heart was pounding in her chest. She felt transfixed by the looming dark shadow approaching her – hovering, ready to strike at any moment.

She was dreaming of her marriage bed again. These dreams always began with Tyrion Lannister stripping nearby, ready to consummate. Though he never got a chance to.

The young woman watched Tyrion waddle over to the bed, but she'd diverted her eyes while he divested all his clothing. Part respect and deference, but mostly, fear.

She knew when he asked her to open her eyes, that he was nude and waiting for her, wanting to touch her with his hands. Sansa now had an idea of what went on in the marriage bed, but back then the particulars were still a mystery to her.

Her Septon had told her it was her duty, her fate even. And her mother, well she was kind enough to suggest that she may even grow to enjoy it someday. She had stressed that last word, it seemed relevant to all women. It gave her hope, that no matter how unpleasant that first night might be. It might just get better.

The only reason she wasn't shaking like a leaf was the knowledge that Tyrion was a good man. He was honourable. He would surely be as gentle with her as he could be. She wondered as she lay there under cool, fine silk sheets whether or not that would make up for her lack of desire for him? He at least seemed to hope so, as he told her again, more firmly this time, to open her eyes.

He was merely exercising his rights. He was Sansa's lord and master now. However wrong this felt, it was natural, and she had to learn to accept him, all of him. Sansa knew it was a given, that you must be respectful and keep your eyes open, to look upon your lords face as he took you.

Still, she was reluctant. She could find nothing to love in her lord husbands face, and besides, looking upon him would make it real. There was no point hiding any more.

She would let him have her, and then merely disconnect. Behind the forced smile could be a thousand tears of sorrow, she'd learned that well enough by now. After beatings, and the horror and humiliations of court, adopting a mask of indifference had become a necessity. The last time she'd genuinely smiled was upon hearing of Joffrey's engagement to Margaery Tyrell.

Yes, even if he wished for her to look upon his face, to smile, and maybe even kiss him as he took her maidenhead, she would do so. She would do whatever it took, play the part as he saw fit. In her dreams, in her silence, and maybe if she was truly blessed, even when she laid with him, she could fly away - like a bird. That thought pleased her, brought her immeasurable comfort as she felt the covers pulled away, baring her flesh to his mismatched eyes.

She had asked when they were left alone if she should disrobe, at first he seemed patient with her, but then her politeness seemed to anger him. He told her to strip.

Her hands were shaking as she removed the beautiful dress that Cersei had commissioned for this day. She took a deep breath as she took off everything, even her small clothes, and let him see her.

She didn't know how to feel when he looked her over and announced that she was a child, but he still wanted her.

She was sure that in his way, he was scared of this moment too. It would have helped if she could have found a solitary thing attractive in him, but alas, she could not. Tyrion seemed to sense this, and that's when he told her to get on the bed.

Obeying his orders was simple enough although she pulled the sheet across her body protectively and lay there, tense and rigid, waiting for him.

It was easy to forget that he was a kind and merciful man as she heard him remove his clothes and climb on the bed beside her. She closed her eyes to him, willing herself to conquer this fear before she shamed him and herself by crying.

She felt a small, searching hand groping her breasts, rubbing across her soft nipples. The sensations barely registered as she lay in fear of what would come next.

He told her to open her eyes, ordered her again to look upon him. Where she found the courage, she could not say. As she forced her eyes open, she was relieved and rewarded.

There were times when it would have seemed a greater punishment somehow, but now she trembled happily and sighed when pinned by the weight of steel, grey eyes. Immovable and cold as stone, they saw through the mask, seemed to want all of her and more.

Tyrion was gone, usurped by a hulking, beast of a man. He seemed angry too. Angry with want, and she feared how that made her respond.

Large hard hands, a killer's hands touched her breasts now. They did not seek permission as they spread her legs wide to accommodate him.

'I'll have that song now, little bird.' he rasped, his smile, cruel and victorious as she nodded in mute agreement.

It happened like this every time. Sandor was there to claim her on her wedding night. She would feel oddly thrilled and excited by the sight of him. He would touch her, but when he leaned down to kiss her, she would wake.

The dreams were frequent and had confused her at first, Sansa couldn't account for them. Sandor had no more of a right or a place in her bed or dreams than Lord Tyrion had.

She had once dreamed only of knights who wore shining armour and were the very image of beauty. They would charm her with compliments and grand gestures. They would dare danger and go on epic journeys for the chance to win her hand. The valiant Ser Loras was everything she wanted once upon a time.  
She wondered where the roses had gone. Why were her dreams filled with dark shadows and hard hands now?

It seemed unlikely that life could still be a song. Men seemed out only to harm, offend or control her. Petyr Baelish seemed to think himself the only exception, and it was tempting to believe him. It always had been.

He had two handmaidens see to her needs in the mornings. They would wake her from these strange dreams, and bring her hot water for a bath. They would show her what Lord Baelish had seen fit for her to wear that day, and they would be the ones to tell her when she was to take breakfast with him.

Life in Lys was almost as simple as it had been on the Quiet Isle, almost. Her bed chamber was small but relatively well furnished for a young lady. Every morning she woke to blissful sunshine and the smell of the ocean and sweet flowers.

It was just as Lord Baelish had promised her it would be. Except that this room was no different to the prison she'd occupied in the red keep. On the window to her chamber were iron wrought bars, as most befitting the cage of a small, precious bird.

Baelish had made it clear that she was to be seen and not touched. Most of the workers barely acknowledged her presence. Her handmaidens didn't speak the common tongue, so she felt very alone.

Baelish had a maester come in to examine her every week and make sure that she was still his pure, devoted, chaste daughter in every way.

She was not allowed in the reception where customers took wine and chose their company. Baelish insisted that she keep to her chamber, the dining room, and his study upon invitation.

Sometimes noises from the pleasure house would reach her ears, and she would pretend not to hear them. Especially during meals with Lord Baelish, who seemed to find her efforts highly entertaining.

There was a large intense man named Torro who guarded her chamber door. He followed her around the house, never speaking or looking upon her. He took her on walks to the sea and to the nearby market where she occasionally bought new materials for sewing.

Every day she would wonder about Sandor Clegane. During their voyage to Lys, she had been scared that he might change his mind, or somehow be unable to make the journey.

After she settled into her new home, she came to realise the larger issue at hand. That even if he arrived looking for her, she had no liberty to seek out or approach him.

Baelish would never stand for her approaching customers outside, or inside the reception. Furthermore, he insisted that she was locked away in her bed-chamber by midnight. She felt cold dread at the notion of Sandor arriving, drinking wine and then leaving without her.

Every night at midnight she sat by her bedroom window and gazed through the bars at the street below hoping to see a large man wearing a dark cloak and hood. So far, none had passed the threshold.

It was not unusual for Lord Baelish to request her company for dinner. During these meals, she feigned enthusiasm for his business dealings and smiled for him. Pretending she was very well pleased with her role as his daughter and prisoner.

His over-familiarity towards her had taken on a specific pattern since they'd arrived in the Free cities. He often reminded her of the colours her mother had dressed in as a girl, how she used to wear her hair. Sometimes late at night, with a goblet of wine in his hand, he would have her perch on his lap while he told her of the kissing games he played with Cat Stark.

Sansa felt nothing but relief when the anticipated evening finally came, Baelish announced his intention to return to the Vale and secure her happiness, just the way he'd always promised her he would.

'A handsome young Lord with prospects. Just the suitor for my lovely, young daughter. Am I not good to you?'

'You are, my Lord.' she smiled prettily. He rolled a grape between his fingers as his gaze travelled over her face and down her neck.

'I have a gift for you before I depart. Come with me, child.' Petyr led her from the dining room and into his bed-chamber.

She froze, hovering uncertainly by the door as he stepped inside and grinned at her.

'Have no fear, child. You should know by now how dear you are to me.'

'Of course, father.'

Sansa crossed the threshold and felt a new wave of fear as he closed and bolted the door behind her.

He poured two glasses of sweet wine and then indicated that she should take in her surroundings.

'Do you find my sleeping arrangements pleasing, Alayne?'

'Very pleasing, 'tis a lovely room.' she confirmed a slight waver in her words that made him grin again.

'I like to be surrounded by beautiful things, yet another reason that I loathe to part from you sweet child.'

'A lovely room.' she repeated too nervous to think of anything new to say.

'It would please me to have you sleep in here while I am gone. To occupy my bed, I would not have you forget your devoted father in the days we are separated.'

'If it pleases you.'

'I rather hoped that it would please you? After all, I keep my promises to you, don't I? I told you that I would keep you safe and so I have. I promised you a worthy husband, and within the year, you shall have one.'

'It would please me to sleep here. You have indeed been kind to me. I did not wish to offend. I just wondered if my handmaidens would think it improper of me, to rest here.'

'They are paid to dress you and tend to your needs, not have thoughts my sweetling. Tell me, dear daughter. What did your mother tell you of the marriage bed?'

'Not a great deal.' she admitted, blushing at the subject. Baelish never wanted to know what advice or direction she'd received from her father.

However, it seemed that Catelyn Stark was never far from his thoughts. Sansa wondered what she would make of her daughters' current situation.

Would she be happy to see her now? A party to her Aunt Lysa's murder. Living in a pillow house, warming the lap of her mother's childhood friend. Smiling every time he shocked and repulsed her.

'I'll warrant that Myranda Royce told you some secrets in your time together?'

'Yes, she told me stories of men.'

'A smart and lively girl. Her father once tried to marry her to your suitor, but she was deemed unsuitable. I am sure Harrold Harding won't refuse my beautiful daughter.'

'I pray that he will not.'

'No need for your prayers any more child, your father has sense, gold and connections. These gifts combined will take you further than beauty or even strength. I hoped you would see this by now. What stories did your friend Myranda tell you of men?'

'Just that her husband had died during the act of love.' Baelish laughed aloud at this announcement.

'Did this frighten you?'

'A little, I imagine it would frighten any young woman.'

'Your Lord husband will be young and vital, no fear of his heart giving out while he ruts in you. I see that your education is limited. I would see to it that you're better equipped to please your husband.'

'How, my Lord?'

'In King's Landing, I would oversee the training of every new pillow slave. I would see to it that they knew their trade well. A task that was unnecessary in Lys because the slaves here are all trained in the art of love from a very young age. They know how to bring any man or woman to their knees. Not decent or proper company for a delicate young lady to keep at all.'

Baelish took up a key from his nearby dresser and unlocked what she thought was a wardrobe. He stepped inside and crooked a finger, indicating that she should follow him.

He pushed the back panel out to reveal a secret passage, she unwillingly followed him and then heard the sounds of pleasure nearby.

One side of the passage was decorative wooden screens. Sansa suddenly realised that there were people behind them. She found herself unwillingly gazing through the patterns carved into the wood - taking in strange sights beyond. Baelish held a finger to his lips, smiling as she remained mute, finally comprehending where he'd brought her.

Sansa's eyes widened as she looked through the gaps in the screen and saw a slender, silver-haired woman writhing on top of a naked man. She was sat astride him, the way you would ride a horse.

Judging from his response, the young woman knew what she was doing. She was drawing, deep, helpless noises from his throat and Sansa gasped as she watched them together. This woman was a pillow slave, but she looked masterful, powerful, she was controlling this man. He seemed to like it too. He seemed to like everything she did.

'You can stay in the shadows, my daughter. Do this every night if it pleases you. Know that this is what a man wants from a woman. I am giving you knowledge, use it well. Remember though, that until you are in Hardying's bed, you are to look but never touch, same goes for yourself, child. We can't take any chances, can we? We're so close now, Alayne. Someday you will thank me for these gifts. Luckily, I am a patient man.'


	5. Kind Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor locates Sansa in Lys and plans to help her escape the pillow house.

Sandor's tour of the pillow houses of Lys was bringing him nothing but stress. He was never a mental traveller, but there had been plenty of times in the past when he had thought how rewarding a trip to Lys would be. The climate, the women, the fine wine. As far as the free cities went, Lys had plenty to recommend it.

After seven nights there, Sandor had seen nothing of Sansa Stark, and he was starting to have misgivings about taking so long to find her. Maybe that cunt Littlefinger had spirited her back the Vale already?

The women he'd seen so far made the offerings on the street of silk look fucking common-place. As Sansa had bid him, he donned a black hood and took wine in each pillow house at midnight, always careful to keep his face well hidden.

The women would find him drinking alone and try and tempt him into spending into them. It took an iron-resolve to ignore some of the more ardent whores. He was impressed. The women knew just the right words to say. It wasn't just their beauty recommending them. They would whisper so many pretty words. He could not help but feel tempted.

He stuck to his task though, gave each establishment an hour of his time, ignoring the women who would have him believe that tasting his seed was their hearts only desire. He was a visitor for one reason alone, and his need for satisfaction was not as strong as his resolve.

Besides which, whenever he absorbed those honeyed words or caught the look of clear interest on the face of a beautiful whore, he would always wonder. Would they look twice if he were to reveal his face to them? Could they simper and smile for him then, or would they recoil in disgust as so many had before them? Were they so well trained that their masks would not slip?

After two cups of wine in your average pillow house, he would become despondent, backed up, and scared for his little bird's safety. Every night he would leave them sober and thinking in his heart that none he had seen in there or on any other shore could hold a candle to Sansa Stark. Even though she'd been married off to that whore-fucker of a dwarf, he thought her the purest woman he'd ever known.

By the eighth night in Lys, Sandor felt that he had taken too long earning the coin to reach and support her. If she was there, then he should have found her already.

He was in a black mood as he approached another such pleasure house near the sea, feeling the usual blend of anticipation, doubt and hope. Counting the silver in his hand, he told himself that tonight might be different. Tonight he might find her again.

That's when he heard her. The same sweet voice he remembered, singing the same sweet song she'd been singing at the Vale. He stopped still and listened intently, the first verse of 'Seasons of my Love' reached his ears, and he looked around to locate the singer. Frantic when he saw no-one, wondering if he'd succumbed to hallucinations in his desperate desire to see her again.

'Where are you?' he rasped, looking about himself in confusion.

'Here – up here!' Sansa whispered, her voice still clear over the sounds drifting out of the pillow house.

He looked up then and saw her, her hands grasping tightly at the bars on the window. She looked like a prisoner in a cell, and he felt his rage burn brightly, temporarily stripping him of the power of speech.

Nevertheless, she smiled prettily for him, her eyes wide in surprise and excitement at his finally noticing her. It was gratifying and disturbing. No one had ever looked so pleased to see him before.  
He saw a ball of parchment get pushed between the bars, it floated like a feather on the wind, and he caught it tight in his fist before it hit the ground.

"Pay for company, and wait for me alone." he processed her directions, and silently praised the Gods that he'd learned to read. He stopped just short of grinning like a fool as he stuffed the parchment into his breeches pocket and nodded up at her in response.

This time he did not linger, he walked straight up to the first woman who was not already hanging off the arm of another customer and told her he would pay to use her mouth. The woman was a small brunette with dimples, she seemed to appreciate his directness, or at least not be offended by it. Taking him by the hand, she led him to the bed chambers, and he entered, wondering how the hell Sansa would get to him.

'Wine.' he grunted as he started to unbuckle his sword belt.

'Now, my Lord?'

'Aye, one cup and a flagon of the finest sour red you've got.' he demanded, dumping coin into her hand as a gesture of good faith. She smiled and curtseyed before stepping out of the room.

He figured he had plenty to celebrate that night, why not go all out? The room was beautiful, decorated with brightly coloured tapestry and smelling of strange incense and exotic fruits. Sandor settled down onto the edge of the feather bed and was starting to unlace his breeches when he heard her.

'Sandor?'

He followed the sound of her voice and realised it was coming from behind the nearby screen on the back wall. Approaching it, he turned his unburned ear to the barrier and told her to speak swiftly. They didn't have much time.

'A guard takes me to the market tomorrow morning. It is the only time I'm permitted to leave here.'

'I'll be waiting, little bird.' he assured her, stepping back towards the bed in time for the reappearance of the brunette pillow slave.

'Your wine, the finest we had in stock...' she promised, pouring him out a cup and then taking to her knees before him.

'I've heard tales about the women of Lys.' he told her gruffly as he finished the first cup in seconds and held it out to her again to refill.

'What have you heard?'

'That you're all well trained for one thing.' he went on, finishing most of the second cup and then looking down at her mouth as she moistened her bottom lip in readiness.

'Would you find out for yourself?' she demanded, starting on the already loose laces of his breeches.

'You've got my silver.' he grunted in response, stroking her hair as she pulled him free at last.

He was hard, excited, ready. Victory did that to him, and he felt like a real winner that night. Tomorrow he would liberate Sansa, he would find a way to bring her to safety at last, and tonight, well, all he had to do was celebrate and be prepared to fight come morning.

'You are some man.' the whore exclaimed as she looked him over, Sandor half-laughed at the compliment, wondering if he'd heard a gasp from somewhere behind that screen? Maybe his ears deceived him?  
It was dark beyond, but he swore he could sense movement behind it still. He would not dare guess that Sansa might linger to watch him.

The rumours were true, yes, they were all true. The young woman drew his huge cock deep into her mouth, so deep he wondered how she could breathe around him.

'Fuck.' he stated, eloquently as she wrapped her tongue around him and worked him with expert hands. He supped on his wine as he watched the whore swallowing his cock, when Sandor grew closer to release he grabbed a fistful of her hair and started to pump into her face.

The intense pleasure made him greedy, and he fucked the hot little mouth with abandon, determined to get his coins worth before he left that night.

There was just the slightest sound again that drew his eyes back to the screen, the intake of breath perhaps? He watched for signs of life, daring her to keep watching as he used the willing whores mouth.

His grey eyes were taunting her. They were hard, confrontational, betraying his anger at the notion that she might defile herself in such a shocking way. Above all, he was confused that she'd think this a show worth watching. Then a smile ghosted on his lips, a stupid male thrill that she could see all of him and maybe had even liked it.

He didn't watch the beauty swallowing his cock anymore. He ordered the brunette to stroke his balls and to be prepared to swallow up all he had. Still, he kept his eyes on that screen.

It happened before he could help it. The vision of Sansa on her knees, red hair bunched in his fists as he used her pretty mouth.

The same guilt hit him hard, Sansa was still so young when these visions had first started haunting him. He was a dog and had done many awful things in his life, but none had caused him more turmoil than wanting to take the virtue of Sansa Stark.  
Maybe he was just hopelessly stuck on the notion of wanting what he could never, ever have. A woman he could never deserve if he lived a hundred years.

It was reassuring that despite being as jaded as he was, that guilt even registered with him any more. Usually, he would drink past it, drink till he forgot how wrong his desires were, then he would spend into his fist or whichever red-headed whore most resembled her.

His seed would erupt at the thought of her smiling for him, accepting him willingly into her arms. No matter how many degrading things he'd pictured doing to and with her, her unabashed love was always what broke him.

As he felt his balls tighten, he let those visions grip him again without shame, giving way to them one more time couldn't hurt anyone. When he started groaning and spilling his seed, he saw Sansa accepting him, Sansa smiling as she swallowed everything he had.

To his disappointment, she just as quickly became the pretty brunette whore again, and he nodded in acceptance as she wiped a trickle of essence from the corner of her mouth.

He'd needed that release for a while, and now he could say that he'd used a pillow slave from Lys. All in all, it had been a highly successful evening. Sandor sighed, tranquil as he'd ever been as he laced up his breeches again.

'You earned this.' he informed the girl as she got back onto her feet. She accepted the extra silver with a smile of gratitude, telling the dark stranger that he was too kind.


	6. Stolen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor helps Sansa escape from Lys.

Sansa woke with a start after a long night of broken sleep. It had taken her hours to drift off, all she could think about was the blessed fact that Sandor Clegane had finally sought her out, he'd found her at last.

Her handmaidens seemed suspicious when she turned her nose up at breakfast. She put it down to the tension, the excitement of escape, her stomach was all tied up in knots. Sansa knew that skipping this meal was a foolish move, that she was likely to regret passing up an opportunity to eat before the sun was down. As a concession, she ate a blush apple and then waited anxiously for Torro to accompany her to the market.

Despite how early it was, the weather was already typically radiant, Sansa would usually have pulled up the hood on her shawl to protect her pale face from the sun, but today she wanted to be seen, to be recognised and found again.

Sandor had not alluded to how he intended to free her from her bodyguard. Looking up at Torro, she had a few misgivings about having no real plan of escape. It was all up to Sandor to dispatch this forbidding warrior.

Torro was a large man, and his hand was always resting on the hilt of his sword. His eyes were wary and never stopped scanning the streets for trouble.

When they grew close to the market, Sansa decided it was time to exercise her only precautionary move. She exclaimed softly as one of her slippers came away from her foot, she had deliberately left the laces loose and then wobbled uneasily on the paved street. Torro barely looked in Sansa's face, and would never presume to touch her either, so it was clear that she could not lean on him while she readjusted her slipper.

Sansa gestured to her foot, her issue apparent enough, as she shuffled away towards a small winding side street.

'Excuse me, my lord.' she excused herself so prettily as she bent to readjust her slipper.

Torro had followed her automatically, impatient as he watched her progress retying her laces. She didn't hear a struggle, just a thick, sluicing sound, and then a thud.

'Don't look, girl.' Sandor warned in a low voice behind her.

She obeyed and quickly followed him back onto the street, not bothering to turn and see what had become of Littlefinger's bodyguard. Liberated at last, she couldn't care less what happened to anyone from the pillow house. She was herself again.

'We must make haste. I booked passage on the next merchant's ship to Meereen. We can't risk them missing you while we're still on land.'

The pair kept their faces covered as they boarded the ship, Sandor insisted that they spent as much time below deck as possible and that's where he safely stowed her as the boat left the dock.

Sansa felt like she was flying free for the first time in her life. Sandor reminded her in a low tone that they were not clear of danger yet, so she should watch herself.

Wondering if it had been Lannister gold that had secured her escape made Sansa smile. She felt that the world was suddenly wide open for her.

The reality of travelling by sea soon dampened her spirits somewhat. Sandor left her side only once, to find her a bucket. She was ashamed and embarrassed as she retched and heaved her meagre breakfast up into the vessel until she had nothing more to give.

Sandor seemed bemused as she suffered from the swell, shaking his head as she struggled with the urge to dry heave once she'd emptied her stomach.

At sunset, Sandor left her once more to empty the bucket over the side of the ship. He found her pale and shaking below deck. He took a seat beside her again, wishing that he could do something to ease her suffering.

'Try and sleep now.' he told her when she tried to vomit into the bucket again, but nothing came up.

She was about to agree, but it seemed that she was not through sharing her embarrassing needs with him.

'I must change my cloth.' she whispered the words, he very gradually caught her meaning, and she watched realisation dawn on his features.

Surrounded by cargo and a few other passengers, Sandor thought it better to bring her up on deck for this process.

The wind whipped her hair and hood, Sandor guarded her, keeping her from view, leading her to the stern of the ship.

'Be quick about it.' he muttered. Sansa accepted his direction with a whimper of embarrassment.

He looked out to sea, and she used the growing darkness and his massive frame for privacy, grappling with her skirts and small clothes as she swapped out her cloth. Sandor saw the bloodied rag disappear into the churning tide below and waited until she affirmed that she was ready before turning to face her again.

'Are you alright?' he pressed, she murmured in assent.

'Take a breath of air, and then we'll go back below.' he advised, she looked out to sea and swallowed some clean, salt air. It was refreshing after all the time spent under the deck.

When they had reclaimed their seats, Sansa finally tried to rest, Sandor covered her with his cloak and was surprised how quickly she gave way to her fatigue.

Within an hour though she sat back up again, Sandor was about to offer her the bucket, but she sobbed, struggling to catch her breath, making it clear that she was distressed for a different reason entirely.

'What's wrong?' he whispered into the darkness.

'Dreams.' she replied. They were not dreams - dreams implied something sweet and carefree. Nor were they simple nightmares, nothing her young imagination had concocted. No, Sansa felt haunted by memories. The same particular memory that replayed when she was under strain or having her moon blood. The time she had almost been ravaged and murdered by the starving, angry mob. It had been during a riot incited by the cruelty of her one true love, her betrothed, her golden lion, King Joffrey.

Three men had her on her back, ready to take her by force, even in her relative innocence, she instinctively knew that they would slit her throat when they were through with her. What if Sandor had not saved her? If he had not delivered her back to the security of the red keep, then she would have been ruined or dead, or both.

Only sometimes, in the dead of night, Sandor did not find her, he was just too late to rescue her. On those nights, the men didn't attempt to rape her. They just drove a sharp knife into her stomach, gutting her. She would wake panting, sweat beading over her body, the stabbing felt so visceral and real. Sansa almost believed that she would not wake at all.

Sansa awoke in this shaken condition beside Sandor. It took her some time to realise that she was no longer in the red keep. Instead, she was in the bowels of a merchants ship bound for Meereen. In the darkness, the vessel rocked and groaned beneath her, Sandor a great hulking figure by her side.

Sandor listened as she tried to catch her breath, her struggle roused him to offer her the wineskin he'd been pulling on. She didn't particularly want any, her throat was raw and burning, but she hoped it might relax her.

'Easy, girl.' he warned as she took too much at once and coughed and spluttered.

'How long was I asleep?'

'No time at all. What were you dreaming of?'

'My death.' she replied honestly, he murmured in assent as though that was a common theme for him too.

'Try and rest, we've got a long ride when we dock.'

Sansa lay back down, tried to relax but to her shame, her shaky breaths dissolved into sobbing. She felt overwrought, tried to keep her emotions in check but failed. She knew how Sandor would hate her blubbering.

'It was just a dream.' he grumbled, assuming the troubling topic was still bothering her.

'My blood, you told them...why?' it was one of her most painful memories, she had no idea why she felt compelled to confront him about that now.

It seemed to take him a moment to gather what she was referring to, Sansa wished she could see the look on his face. All she could make out was his outline, but his breathing told her he was frustrated by her question.

'You'd talk of this now, would you? It's not the time, girl. Although I am impressed how long you can hold a grudge. Maybe we have more in common than I thought.'

She continued sobbing quietly, her sniffling seemed to get to him after a few moments, and he told her to hush again.

'You're waiting for an apology, is that it? You want me to beg your forgiveness?'

'I thought you were my friend...' she told him, getting to the heart of the matter. She was still confused by the betrayal.

'I am the only friend you've got in this part of the world, don't be forgetting that. I'm sorry that I didn't let you hang yourself with your bloody sheets, girl. That's what hiding them would have done. One way or another, you'd have been punished for lying. You should know that well enough.'

Sansa understood his reasoning, believed him even, but the memory still stung her. She rolled over onto her side, doubled over and curled up into a ball, hugging her stomach that was severely cramping and empty.

Sandor was listening to her sighs and short breaths with some discomfort. He didn't like the memory she'd recalled, didn't like reminding of her moon blood in any way. Being aware of the fact that she was essentially a woman flowered sat heavily with Sandor. It was easier to think of her as a child, an innocent that he should treat as such. He could scold a girl, could shun his base feelings. What would he do on the road with a young woman by his side?

'Come now, that was long ago. Forget it, won't you? Crying over it will do you no good.'

'I know.'

'Your bleeding, does it bring you pain?'

'Yes. My stomach is hurting.'

'Show me.' he reached out a hand, accidentally touching her hip and almost recoiling with embarrassment.

She trapped his giant paw between her hands and rolled onto her back again, nervous as she drew it down onto her lower abdomen. Sandor's heavy, warm hand was helpful, and he seemed to sense the comfort it brought her. Shifting his position so that he could maintain this position for her benefit, Sandor sighed, sounding weary himself.

'Try and rest. I've got you, you're safe now, alright?'

'Yes,' Sansa nodded into the darkness, as she placed her hand over his she felt him start. Sandor did not recoil though, and he kept his hand secured to her body.

She listened to the groan of the wood, the rolling of the sea beneath them. Then she focussed on the warmth of his skin and the strangely alluring smell of his leather armour.

It took her a few more minutes, but soon she felt able to relax enough to let go again, hoping this time for pleasant memories, for sweet dreams. Knowing that at the very least, she had a friend in Sandor Clegane was reassuring. His friendship was enough to save her life in Kings Landing, and she was quite sure, it would keep her safe tonight and tomorrow too.


	7. Until Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor and Sansa arrive in Meereen and continue their journey to the camp of the Second Sons.

Sandor and Sansa remained silent for hours after they'd disembarked from the ship. There was no risk in speaking freely any longer. Still, a prevailing sense of awkwardness remained that was hard to overcome.

The journey had taken it out of Sansa. She was paler than usual as they made their way across harsh, sun-baked plains. The sun was high in the sky when Sansa finally asked where he was taking her. He did not sound very pleased when he admitted that he was taking her to an encampment.

'I joined a company of sellswords, that's how I made my living while you were playing the part of Littlefinger's bastard.'

Sansa wasn't sure she particularly liked the tone of that last statement. She knew how he hated liars, but she had little choice when it came to taking on the identity of Alayne Stone.  
Still, sensible of how much she owed him already, she politely asked how long they might be staying there.

'Not long if I have my way. Even on horseback, we're not going to arrive till morning. When we do, I want you to keep your head down, keep to yourself, and speak to no-one do you hear me?'

Sansa agreed, feeling and sounding just a little sullen. After all, she had been living that way for some time now. It would be so strange when she could finally be herself again. To laugh, and sing and introduce herself as Sansa Stark to anyone who cared to inquire.

'I'm trying to see to it that you get an audience with the Targaryen Queen. The Captain of the company tells me that she is fair-minded and just. She might be willing to take you on as a handmaiden, perhaps. You must pretend to be my sister.'

Sansa laughed at the notion, thoroughly diverted until she realised that she might be offending the huge man in the saddle before her. Sandor seemed to sense as she puzzled next over how to excuse herself.

'Yes, yes. It is quite an outrageous lie, but I thought you'd be well versed in those by now.'

Sansa wanted to ask why he seemed so cold towards her again. It was an innocent enough joke after all. The very notion that they were born from the same womb was laughable. Even with her hair dark, they couldn't have looked or sounded more different. She assumed that she had hurt his feelings.

'I'm sorry if I've offended you.'

'Don't start with that!' he gruffed impatiently.

'If you heed what I say then you'll be safe. No man at camp has seen my face yet, and I intend to keep it that way.'

'Why is that?'

'It's not one you're likely to forget is it?' he demanded like she was imbecile for posing such a question.

Sansa fell silent then. It was clear that she couldn't say the right thing, so she determined to not speak again for the rest of the day. That was her intention anyway - when Sandor pointed out the mouth of a small winding river in the near distance, she exclaimed with unabashed delight that she would love to get clean.

'We'll be following it for some miles yet, when the sun goes down we can take a quick bath.' Sandor promised her, feeling her arms tighten around his waist in anticipation gave him strange needs that he struggled to keep in check.

He was as good as his word, as dusk settled on the land, he tied Stranger to a tree, handed over a bar of lye soap and told Sansa that she could bathe first while he set up their tent.

Although the night was falling, the water was still relatively warm, so Sansa waded in up to her knees. Sandor had warned that there was no time to wash their clothes and that he would not risk lighting a fire either. So, she settled for splashing around in her shift, carefully rinsing the sweat and grime from her body. Her moon blood had ended, but her stomach still hurt from the strain of throwing up so many times on the journey from Lys.

She had fantasised about being rescued by Sandor many times since he had first come to her aid. She had never forgotten that day in Kings Landing, or the relief she'd felt being under his protection.

When she'd envisioned their escape from Lys, she had pictured something far more romantic than this. Sansa had not dared to bring any clothes or jewellery from the pleasure house. She felt it would be considerably more sensible to give the appearance of having been kidnapped or killed. A planned escape might give Littlefinger more clues as to her whereabouts.  
So, here she was, with only one dress to her name, her backside sore from a day in the saddle and her stomach seizing from lack of food. She knew she probably looked a fright too. At the very least, she knew washing her hair would improve her appearance and mood significantly. Sandor gave her his cloak again to dry off in, Sansa wrapped this around her body as she clambered up the river bank to find the tent already erected.

'Your turn.' she remarked with a pleasant smile when she encountered Sandor feeding Stranger from his hand.

'If you see anyone riding in, make sure not to draw their attention when you call me.' he insisted. He looked almost as weary as Sansa felt. She hoped that bathing would improve his mood at least a little. It was likely a vain hope.

'Is there any food?' she asked as he pulled off his boots and shed his armour piece by piece.

'That depends, are you going to throw it back up again?'

'Never mind, I would not expect special treatment. I am not your horse, after all.' Sansa bit back at him before she vanished into the tent. She felt rather proud of herself as she quit him, Sandor had looked surprised by the sharp response. Shocking him always did feel rather satisfying as he was not a man easily thrown off course.

He appeared inside the tent as she was still congratulating herself on a worthy trade of words. She gasped at the unexpected disturbance, her shift was still wet, and her body all too visible through it. His eyes betrayed him for a moment, passing across her chest briefly before settling heavily on her face again.

'I need you to keep an eye on Stranger while I bathe. We can't risk losing him.' he assured her. She blushed at the allusion to his beloved horse and continued to do so as he tossed a small bag of dates into her lap.

Sansa was fully dressed when Sandor returned to the tent. He was lacing his breeches and wringing out his shirt.

'I thought that we could not wash our clothes?' Sansa demanded, feeling frustrated at the injustice of this turn of events.

'You have worn that dress for no time at all. I travelled light, and have been sweating through this bloody shirt for days.' Sandor responded without ceremony.

Sansa unwillingly noticed how large he was as he approached her. Dark hair covered his broad chest which tapered down his hard stomach and disappeared below his belt line. She followed this trail with avid attention, curious and interested in where it ended.

His body and muscular, arms were decorated with many scars of various sizes, shapes and colours. Some silvery-white and long since healed, some still raised, puckered and pink. Sansa could not hide her fascination as well as she might have wished to, he seemed to sense this, which in turn, made her face burn with shame.

Sansa wanted to tell him that he should not be so well pleased with himself. She was merely not used to seeing men in a state of undress. Not men of his particular stature, anyway.

'Is there anything else to eat?' she asked as he hung his shirt from a nearby tree and ignored her probing glances. She devoured the sight of his back, biting her lip unconsciously as he stretched up to reach a sturdy branch.

'There is, but I don't think you'd care for it.' he responded, with a dismissive shake of his head.

'I should like to eat more than dried fruit.' she explained, that edge back in her tone again.

'So should I, but all I have left is horse meat.'

'In truth?' Sansa grew paler still at the notion of eating horse.

'It is dried out, a little tough but softens if you chew it some...'

'Never mind.'

'I'm sure they'll feed you better in the palace, girl. Then you can forget roughing it with the likes of me. I'm sure your father spoiled you with all manner of delicacies in Lys.'

'He's not my father!' she snapped, over-tired and frustrated with their discourse now.

'Glad to hear you remembered that.' he grumbled, disappearing into the tent then.

Sansa was reminded at that moment how hard and hateful he could be when he wished to. It was easy to romanticise travelling with Sandor, in much the same way that she'd idealised her escape. The reality of her bid for freedom was something altogether different. It involved sweat, sickness, hunger, and dirty clothes. It was pain, uncertainty and embarrassment.

It took her a few moments to gather the will and strength to follow him into the tent. It felt awkward to be completely alone with him at last. Now that they had a night to pass in such close quarters, she felt very aware of their many differences.

He was huge and took up most of the space. The fact that they were currently at odds with each other didn't make things any better. That was his fault, though. Sansa felt that he was the one choosing to be dry and unfriendly towards her, so she ignored him.

Sandor checked on Stranger once more at nightfall, and when he returned to the tent, it was clear that the time had come to retire. Sansa still wore Sandor's cloak, and when she offered it back, the owner grunted that she might as well keep it till dawn.

'Won't you be cold? You have no shirt...'

'I have wine.' he returned, tucking into the skin while she settled on the floor of the tent.

'Why do you drink so much?' Sansa demanded when some silence had passed between them, and the winds started to pick up outside. The restless, howling was such a mournful sound to sleep through.

'Not all battles can be won, little bird. I drink so that I can stand myself.'

She considered this response, feeling lonelier still as he stared at the opening of the tent, and continued to swallow his wine.

'It might make you sleep easier too?' he intimated, his head inclined in her direction.

'I do not need it.' she dismissed the offer outright, but she could not help feeling sorrow for him.

When she touched the expanse of his back with a warm, searching hand, he jumped as though burned. She had only meant to bring him some comfort, to remind him that although they were different, she struggled too.

'Leave me be, girl. I don't want your tears.' he snapped, his voice cold and hard as steel.

'What do you want?' she demanded then, indignant again, all she had wanted was to show him some shred of mercy.

'Nothing you would care to give. Get some sleep.' Sandor responded finally, shrugging off her gesture of kindness. On those words, he promptly emptied the skin before settling down to rest – as far away from her body as the small space would allow.


	8. Last Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor arranges to bring Sansa to the palace of Daenerys Targaryen.

Sandor woke up in the same black mood that he'd fallen asleep in, his stormy grey eyes were downcast when he woke Sansa. He grunted when she bid him good morning, effectively and immediately stamping out any hopes she might have of finding him at least a little contrite in the light of a new day. She sensibly resolved to avoid engaging him in conversation and follow his lead for the rest of their journey.

For his part, he felt some residual guilt over the way he'd treated her since they'd arrived in Meereen. So, figuring she was innocent and not deserving of the brunt of his temper, he tried to keep himself in check. The best way of achieving that was to stay silent.

Rolling up the tent and getting back on the move again improved his demeanour, not sleeping beside her any longer solved his immediate problems. The fact that he struggled to control himself around her wounded his pride. And although it was no fault of hers, it tended to make him act all the more hateful and resentful when she unconsciously tempted him.

Now he faced a new concern though. What would the Second Sons make of this new addition to the camp? He knew well enough how lithe and beautiful she had grown in recent years.  
Bringing her to this harrowing place was like wafting food to the starving. They would try and savage her at the first opportunity, Sansa would be nothing more than fresh meat to them. The closer they got to the encampment, the more these fears grew, and Sansa sensed his disquiet. The young woman was unsure how to go about reassuring him, the fact was, she was nervous about spending time in the company of sellswords as well.

As the tents and campfires came into view, she heard him release a massive sigh of regret as he struggled to maintain his resolve.

'Put that scarf up over your face now, little bird and remember that as far as anyone else is concerned, you are my sister.'

'What name should I go by?'

'Any of these animals asks your name or anything else of you - you will say nothing. My Captain himself has offered to get you an audience with Daenerys Targaryen. You may speak to him and whoever you encounter at the palace, but never mention our names to anyone.'

'But what will that name be?'

'Efa.'

'Why?'

'I knew a girl by that name once. An innocent, like you.'

'What was she like?' Sansa pressed further, curious.

'I just told you, that's all you need to know of her. Now, remember all your pretty courtesies and play the part of a dutiful lady in waiting. We can't take no for an answer. I must return to battle soon, and I'm damned if I'm going to leave you in this filthy camp.'

'You're leaving me again?' Sansa asked before she could think better of it. It had been impulsive and maybe even a little ungrateful, but she could not help or regret asking.

He sighed again, and a long silence stretched out between them as he repressed the urge to yell at her for making him feel such crippling guilt and shame. Didn't she have at least some idea of how much he hated himself already?

'This is not the same, Sansa. I am not leaving you with those Lannister cunts. The dragon queen is supposed to be a fair and just leader - she treats her people well. In that palace, if you keep to yourself and do your work, you will be out of the Baelish's reach, and none of these soldiers will be able to try and claim you.'

'When will I see you again?'

'I don't know. I'm hoping the fighting will not take long, but I cannot say. Don't try and shame me, girl. I tried to take you with me when I left Kings Landing, and you turned me down.'

'I was scared.'

'It's no matter. As I told you on the ship, you needn't be frightened any more. I have saved coin during my time here, and someday when I have enough, you can tell me where you wish to go, and I will see it done. For now, though, you must do as I say.'

Sansa agreed in a timid voice and wrapped her arms around his waist all the tighter as he kicked Stranger into a full gallop.

She had not had much success putting her fate into the hands of others so far. Everyone who had reassured her and then given her directions to follow had selfish motives for doing so. Still, despite his moodiness, she could not believe the same thing was true of Sandor Clegane.  
He could be angry and distant, but she had already learned that he tended to direct most of his rage inwards. Above all, she knew that he would never hurt her. In a way, she believed that they had always been friends in waiting to find each other.

Dusk in a camp when no battles were raging meant that listless soldiers were actively seeking entertainment and bound to cause more trouble than enough.

Sandor rode his horse through the camp, refusing to dismount even when a few stupidly brave men saw fit to remind him that he was breaking the rules. The men there had few principles, they often fought amongst themselves, and strength and coin won most arguments. However, not riding your horse in the camp was one of the codes of conduct they all observed.  
On route to the tent of Daario Naharis, a stocky soldier with a bushy, salt and pepper beard greeted Sandor. He was well into his cups, and he staggered as he approached the black warhorse and the couple riding him.

'What's yours, Stranger?'

'I'm not drinking today, brother.'

'That's not what I'm asking. What's that you've got there? Looks healthy...'

Sansa bristled as the man's gaze travelled over her curves, settling on her chest. She could not help but cower as he licked his lips appreciatively. Sandor seemed to feel the fear pass through her body, and he reacted swiftly.

'My sister, not for the likes of you. She has business with the Dragon Queen.'

'Mother's milk. Let's keep it civil, shall we? I know better than to draw blades against you. How about you let her warm my tent tonight? You'll get her back in the morning along with a handful of honour. I need something sweet, and I'm too drunk and weary for hunting.'

'You can keep your honour. The girl is not for sale. That's my blood you're insulting. Another word about her, and I'll see to it that you never hunt again.'

'Just a sniff then, eh?' he went on, grabbing at the hem of her skirt and lifting it clear of her thigh.

Sansa cried out in shock and disbelief as Sandor drew his weapon and cut off the man's groping arm just below the elbow. The blood sprayed into the dust, misting and then flowing freely, he fell to his knees, as pale as death. Despite all the warnings he'd received the soldier cried out in outrage and disbelief, his screams of agony were blood-curdling. The scene was drawing onlookers, and Sandor was ready to finish him when Daario appeared with a grin on his face.

'Ahhh - Stranger! How we have missed you! Spilling blood already, eh?'

'Naharis - he took my sword arm! I will have your head for this, Stranger! Do you hear me!?' the soldier ranted, looking somewhere between apoplectic rage and losing consciousness.

'Mercy.' Daario responded simply before turning to the wounded soldier and opening his throat with one of his daggers. The ranting stopped, the man fell onto his face and choked to death on his blood, the gurgling sound turning Sansa's stomach.

'His screaming was hurting my ears. Besides, he's not much use to us maimed is he?'

'Fucker touched my sister.' Sandor replied with an unapologetic shrug.

'A crime, indeed. I'm sorry to have frightened you, sweet lady.' Daario apologised to Sansa with a deep, gallant bow. Sandor became wary for another reason entirely when the Captain kissed her hand and flashed her his wide, greedy smile.

'You must be tired after your journey. Will you both rest and take some wine with me?'

'Another time, I need to call in that favour today.'

'What is the rush?'

'What do you think? I've been back at camp for five bloody minutes and look what's happened...'

'I admit that camp life was dull without you, so it benefits me to keep you happy. I am a man of my word, and in your absence, our lovely Queen Daenery's has agreed to meet your sister. I am craving another look upon her. My hunger grows by the day. I require respite for the lonely nights ahead, so let us ride to the palace at once. Your sister will, no doubt, be accepted, and then you and I can return to my tent and discuss strategy.'

'As you wish.' Sandor replied dutifully.

Sansa thought Daario Naharis was rather odd, on the ride to the palace she discreetly stole a few looks at him on horseback.

He was unlike any man she'd ever seen, and his manner of dress was colourful and outlandish but not at all displeasing. It was apparent that he favoured Sandor. However disparate they both were in style and speech. Daario's expressions were as exotic and alluring as his appearance, and she could understand him being considered very attractive in the right light. To the right woman.

Sandor was anxious when he learned that Daenery's had expressed an intention to meet with both of them, the prospective handmaiden and the relative who had recommended her.  
Once admitted into the palace, they awaited the Dragon Queen in the throne room in abject silence, Daario helped himself to some fruit and wine while Sandor warned Sansa once more, under his breath, to stick to their story, and all would be well.

Daenerys entered without ceremony as this was not to be an official audience. She pointedly informed them that she was about to sit down to her dinner when they'd arrived so she would close this matter as swiftly as possible.

Sandor panicked when he recognised the men that accompanied her as none other than Barristan Selmy and Jorah Mormont. Both men seemed particularly interested in this audience and its subjects.

'Daenerys, Queen of my heart. This girl seeks a place here. She is the young sister of my best warrior. Speak, sweet child. You stand before Daenerys of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons.' Daario bowed deeply before Daenerys and then stepped away to allow Sansa to speak for herself.

Sansa trembled as she stepped forward and removed the scarf from around her face and hair. She slipped to her knees and lowered her head respectfully as she waited to be addressed by the dragon queen, who was not much older than she was.

Daenerys was more accustomed to power by now and held herself with poise and deadly authority. She looked well-armed too, with her faithful advisors by her side, closely flanked by Grey Worm and a host of other Unsullied guards.  
She smiled kindly at Sansa though and gestured for her to stand and meet her eye without fear, Sansa did so and tried to reign in her nerves.

'What is your name?'

'My name is Efa, your grace. It is my brother's express desire that I seek employment here.'

'And what is your desire?'

'To please him, and to serve you.'

'What are your talents? I have many handmaidens already in attendance.'

'I can sew and mend clothes. I can sing for you if you wish it? Or tell you stories. Anything you wish for I would see it done – if I can...'

'And your brother? What is his name?' Daenerys eyes fell upon the dark, hulking warrior who was hanging back away from the scene.

'We have taken to calling him the Stranger. No-one knows who he is or where he came from, only that death follows him wherever he goes.' Daario announced with a flourish. He found the mystery and intrigue surrounding his best fighter very diverting.

'I would know what name he goes by, and his place of birth. Also, I would look upon his face. Step forward.'

'I am of no consequence to anyone. I seek only to secure my sister's safety.' Sandor rasped, just barely managing to keep the trepidation out of his tone.

'Reveal your face then, or this audience is over, you and Efa will leave my palace never to return. Nor will you have a place in my ranks, skilled or no.'

Sandor cursed under his breath but did as ordered, pulling off his black hood and the cloth he kept around his face. He merely nodded in grim acceptance when Selmy drew his sword, followed in rapid succession by every other soldier in the room.

'Barristan, you know this man?'

'Aye, your grace. Sandor Clegane, brother to the mountain who rides and lifelong soldier of the Lannister's. He is the man who took my place on the King's Guard.'

'Clegane...your brother murdered my infant niece and nephew. Furthermore, you were loyal to House Baratheon and Lannister. I will see to it that you pay dearly for your crimes. Blood will have blood.'

'And that is not his sister, my Queen. I recognise her as Eddard Stark's eldest girl. Sansa Stark, is it not?' Jorah demanded then.

'Please? We are at your mercy. I am Sansa of House Stark, and I beg of you, do not hurt this man. He is honourable. He is not his brother!'

Sandor rather hoped that those were the last words he would hear before dying, as they meant more to him than any other words ever had before.


	9. No Mercy

Sandor did not attempt to resist the Unsullied guards that seized him. As they marched him out of the throne room, his head was hung low, and Sansa's desperate pleas for mercy were ringing in his ears.

He was as shocked as anyone at the passionate way she rallied behind him. After all, he was a solitary man with few values. All that he'd believed in for so many years was self-preservation.

He learned early on that if he didn't look out for himself, then no-one else would. His mother and sister had passed when he was very young, and his father had betrayed him as thoroughly as Gregor ever had.

Sandor was a soldier, no more, no less. He fought for coin and not glory, and he'd lived by his wits, and by the flash of cold steel for as long as he could remember. It was hard to imagine that there had ever been a time when Sandor believed there was more to life than mere survival. Wine helped him forget that he was ever that young and foolish, but Sansa Stark, damn her, she made him remember.

Words held little value for him. Years of life at court had provided him with ample opportunity to learn not to trust them. He knew that everyone there was a self-serving liar, so he paid no heed to gossip, rumours, or even promises. For most of his life, he cared not a whit for any word that was not a direct command, until recently, that is.

Sansa had changed him, and it wasn't until Sandor was alone in the darkness of a dungeon that he realised the true extent of this transformation.

Her words meant something to him. A young woman of high morals thought him a man of principle, a man worth sparing. She believed in the old Gods, in the human spirit and for some reason, she believed in him too.

He found himself laughing in the darkness like a mad man. Here he was, staring death in the face, to now have a life-changing revelation was just his luck. Too late no doubt, but to a beaten-up old dog with a rotten core, it was more than he felt he could ever deserve.

That frightened young girl he knew in Kings Landing had somehow changed his view of the world. He never thought this was possible for the likes of him. Not after all that he'd seen, and survived.

He guessed early on why he felt compelled to mock her, why he sought her out only to scorn her steadfast belief in the good in others.

She was surrounded by enemies then, and he didn't wish to see her subjected to unnecessary anguish, but there was more to it than that. It was of course, imperative that she learned how to protect herself from lions. Sandor also wanted her to realise that he'd once been as green as she was, and look at what the world had made of him.

That silly young girl had believed in all the songs and stories that had inspired him when he was a child, and he felt bound to resent her for it. After all, she still had prospects, a chance to be something. If she gave way to fairy tales and believed in the power of prayer when her loved ones were dropping likes flies, then she would be doomed forever. She could never be the monster that he was, but she could fall a lot further.

Would this Dragon Queen torture her the way Cersei had? He gnashed his teeth at the mere thought, and his bitter laughter slowly faded out into a curse of regret. He had brought this on her, coming here was his fool idea.

As the dungeon door opened, he made his peace with the world. About as much as an abject sinner ever could anyway. Sandor had been ready to die for longer than most men. They would not see his spirit broken by a blade. Although this particular ruler owned dragons, and if she used fire against him, then that would be another matter entirely.

He did not expect Sansa. He blinked in the darkness as she stepped into the damp cell, armed only with a lantern.

'Are you warm enough?' she inquired, shivering herself as she set the lamp down on the floor and stood before him.

'For where I'm going, I'm plenty warm.'

'I wish they had not bound you like this.' she mused, reaching up and running her fingers along the seam of the iron shackles that kept him chained to the wall.

'How is it that you're here?' Have you come to lead me in prayer?' he asked, mocking her to the last.

'I asked if I could speak to you. To say goodbye...'

'Has she hurt you?'

'No, I have been waiting while she talks to her advisors. She has invited me to dine with her this evening.'

'Sounds cosy. Promising too, you may secure your freedom yet. Tell the Queen that I forced you to travel by my side - that I threatened you. If she is breaking bread with you, then there's still a chance she'll allow clemency.'

'I will not lie, and I'm not leaving you here.'

She gasped as he suddenly lunged at her, the iron bit into his flesh, and he relished the punishment.

'Yes, you bloody well are! I was dead years ago, but you still have a chance. You have a family.'

'My family are dead!'

'Not all of them. The King of the North is dead and gone, I can testify to that. The younger ones may be too. Still, that bastard on the wall may be living, and that sister of yours. The little she-wolf, she'll take some killing, I think...' he announced, laughing at the memory of the other Stark girl that he'd come to care for too.

'Arya's alive!? How do you know this?'

'We travelled together until I got wounded in a fight. Wily little bitch took what coin I had and left me to die.'

Sansa's head was swimming with mixed emotions. It took her a moment to find her voice again.

'Why are you only now telling me this?'

'Because it would have done you no good if I'd told you before. I have no idea where Arya ended up. Seeking her out would have just put you in more danger, and you've been in that ever since I first laid eyes on you. Joffrey's betrothed...'

'Don't mention him, please.'

'Alright, little bird. Know this though - I'm a hateful man, everything you thought when you first met me is true. The terror I struck in you once, hold onto that. I looked out for your sister, but only for the coin. I thought your Aunt Lysa would compensate me for delivering her to the Vale.'

'So why did you help me?'

Sandor fell silent, considered telling her something that would turn her stomach. That would fill her with outrage and fear. Despite himself, he wanted to lie to her. He would leave this world with no-one to mourn him otherwise. If he died Sansa's hero, that would mean it was all worth it.

However, she was stubbornly determined to be kind-hearted, and this generosity of spirit would not stand when her very life hung in the balance.

'I came to you the night the blackwater was burning. Running over with wine, scared out of my wits. That battle had broken me, and I was looking to do the same to you.'

'What did you want to do to me?'

'Don't ask fool questions.' he snarled at her.

'You could have taken me by force.'

'I wanted to.' he admitted, this almost felt like a confessional. He was unburdening himself at last. Yet Sansa remained steadfast, resolute, not shaming or running from him as she should be.

'Why did you not break me?'

'I would have, but you sang that bloody song, didn't you? You saved yourself. You see now that you've never needed me for that? Now leave!'

'If you had told me in the Quiet Isles that Ayra lived then I would never have agreed to go to Lys.'

'Aye, you'd have told Baelish the way it was, and he would have had more power over you and yours. You needed to get away, and if I'd told you that she might still be living, you'd have got yourself killed on a mere chance of finding her again.'

'That would have been my choice. Arya is my only sister!'

'You have a choice now. Plead for mercy. Tell them that your father was a traitor for staying true to Robert Baratheon. You are innocent. If this Queen is half what I've heard that she is, you might be allowed to leave here in one piece.'

'What about you?'

'I'm already dead.'

'Sandor, please?' Sansa lifted the lantern from the floor, and he froze up at the sight of the tears swimming in her sea-blue eyes. He knew they could not be for him, but believing the lie was so sweetly reassuring.

'What do you want, child? I've told you everything I know, and I've told you what you must do now. What else would you have of me?'

'My father was no traitor, he didn't deserve to die, and neither do you.'

'It's no matter. Your father is dead and gone, he can't protect you now and neither can I. You still can, Sansa!' he stressed the last words, needing to get through to her at last.

The cell door sounded again, and they both looked up to see an Unsullied guard waiting with a flaming torch in hand.

'Heed what I have said, won't you?'

'I will never forget you, I have never managed to yet.' she declared, the tears running freely now.

Sandor was at a total loss as he stared down into her lovely face. Her grief was too much for him. He'd been ready to die. When she said such things, he almost wanted to keep living. Her faithfulness was cruelty the likes of which even he had never known.

'Get out of here, now!' he insisted, the words and his manner typically harsh.

'Stupid bird.'

'Hateful dog.' she responded in turn, making him laugh at her fangs. She always brandished them when he least expected it.

'One more kiss.' she declared then, confusing and then startling him as she leaned in and tenderly pressed her lips to his. He struggled against his cuffs again. They rattled against the wall as he absorbed her caress.

She tasted of salt, of shelter in a storm. Her warmth and purity made Sandor's heart splinter in his chest. No-one had ever kissed him before, what a late hour to discover that it was everything he'd hoped it would be. Everything he had so steadfastly denied due to ignorance, fear and pain.

He wanted to ask her what she meant by those words, but it was too late, the moment had passed. Sandor absorbed and released his next few shaky breaths in a rage - he wanted more. More life, more of her, he wanted to feel that way again, and again. Today and tomorrow, always.

'I will find a way to liberate you, I swear it.' Sansa whispered, wiping her tears away and then leaving him alone in the darkness once more.

'You already have.' he confessed when he was sure that she should never hear him.


	10. Fire and Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa Stark sits down to dinner with Daenerys Targaryen.

Daenerys had not appreciated how far she'd come as a leader and a woman until she welcomed Sansa Stark to her table. The noble Northern girl was not much younger than she was, so it was strange to feel so absolutely her senior in every respect. She could see that it had everything to do with personal power and not their respective ages.  
Sansa was scared, and her hands shook as she gingerly took up the wine goblet that was filled and placed before her.

They didn't address what had happened mere hours before, Daenerys at first, stuck to generalities, and tried to learn what foods Sansa appreciated. The younger girl was mostly silent, and as tempted as she was by the courses brought forth to her after long days of hunger, she was too nervous to eat.

'Are you not hungry?' Daenerys demanded, not unkindly as she watched Sansa pick at her meal somewhat listlessly.

'I am, your Grace. It was a long journey here.'

'Where did you travel from?'

'Sandor found me in Lys. We travelled here by sea and horseback.'

'And when was this?'

'Three days ago.'

'And you haven't eaten properly in that time?'

'No, your grace.'

'Then surely you must be hungry by now?' Daenerys asked, smiling, trying to put the girl at ease and failing.

'I am.'

'Is everything not to your liking?'

'It all suits me very well, your Grace. However, I cannot think of such trivial matters until I know what you intend to do with Sandor.'

'Food means survival, and this can hardly be deemed trivial.'

'Sandor's life hangs in the balance, that is not trivial either.' she reasoned, steeling herself to say as much.

She saw the light change in Daenerys eyes, saw something akin to respect and knew she'd made the right choice. She tried to remember her Northern roots, the strength of spirit and conviction inherent in her bloodline.

'I confess, until a few hours ago, I knew precious little about Sandor Clegane. I have spent my entire life despising his brother.'

'So has he, your Grace.'

'Excuse me?'

Sansa took a sip of her wine and remembered being made privy to a secret once. A secret that she promised she would disclose to no-one ever. Sansa kept her promises, too.

'You can speak freely with me.' Daenerys insisted. Their eyes met across the beautifully laid up table, a silent connection formed.

It was tempting to follow Sandor's advice. After all, Daenerys already believed him to be a villain. He was dark and terrifying to behold - it was such a simple lie to sell. The notion that he had spirited her away, that he had taken her by force.  
She could not lie any more, even if that meant betraying his confidence. Sansa wanted to believe that ultimately, he would have approved of her honesty. After all, if she didn't speak now, tomorrow might be too late.

'His face, the burns...'

'Yes, they are quite shocking to behold.'

'Many think he took them during a battle, but that's not true. He was only a child, a six-year-old boy when his brother gave him those scars.'

'His brother did that to him?' Daenerys looked genuinely shocked by this fact. It was at that moment that Sansa saw an opportunity. After all, this Queen was supposed to be fair and just. She wasn't supposed to resemble the cold, harsh rulers that had kept her captive. If Daenerys could feel pity and regret, then all might not be lost.

'Sandor was playing with one of his brother's old toys, a little wooden knight. Gregor was so enraged that he saw fit to punish him by forcing his face into the embers of the fire. He did nothing wrong, and he pays for his brother's cruelty every single day. I beg that you do not make him pay for the sins of his brother once more?' Sansa began to sob as she finished recounting what he'd suffered. The tears were genuine too. When she acknowledged aloud what was at stake, the injustice of it all was almost too much to bear.

She had never cried for him until that moment, though he had been in her daily prayers for years. Sansa had always thought how awful it must be to wear your pain for all the world to see. She imagined it must be such a lonely life, but her heart had never broken for him before that moment.

'How is it that you came to know this when no-one else does?' Daenerys demanded, a look of horror frozen on her face.

'I don't know why he told me. He said it was a secret, and to never tell anyone. I would not be telling you now were he not in such peril.'

'Has he shared other secrets with you?'

'Not really. I know how Sandor despises knights.'

'Despises them? Why?'

'They made his brother Gregor a knight despite his awful crimes. Sandor believes many of the knights have no honour. They do not deserve to be revered. He thinks it's all so dishonest, and he hates liars...'

'Yet he lied to me, and his Captain.'

'He was just trying to protect me.'

'Yes, you keep strange company. Why is this man so intent on protecting you?'

Sansa heard in her tone the unspoken implication, the unasked question. She assumed that she had given herself to him.

'I think perhaps he took pity on me? He knows what the Lannister's did to my family, and me...'

'Ser Barristan told me that Sandor served the Lannister's for most of his life.'

'He has, he was a loyal subject to them. I think perhaps he wished to be far from home, and this is why he was so intent on leaving to serve them instead?'

'I haven't been home for many years.' Daenerys mused rather wistfully, looking sad at the thought.

'It is only a few years since I was in Winterfell your grace, but it feels like many more.'

'You miss your home?'

'I do. Everyday.'

'What happened to you in Kings Landing?'

Sansa summoned all her strength to recount the entire story. It was like purging poison from her body, recalling the facts without omitting a single detail. Not hiding behind lies or false names to protect her neck was a relief and a struggle. If this might be her last chance to speak the truth as Sansa Stark, then she would see to it that she did her family justice.

She recalled the events that had occurred since the fateful day her father had decided to bring her and her sister to court with him. What cruelty she endured at the hands of her own betrothed. She held nothing back. As she finished describing the murder of her family, and the crimes and lies Petyr had embroiled her in she started sobbing again.

'King Robert wished to have me executed when I was with child. I have spent my entire life in danger, running away, but no more. I have had quite enough of that, and I imagine that you have too. Why did you not escape when Sandor Clegane offered to take you with him?'

'I was scared, and I could see that he was not himself. I didn't believe that we would make it out of the city without being caught. They would have surely killed us both.'

'If he is such a fearless warrior, then why is it that he shirked his duties on the battlefield that night?'

'The Lannister's used wildfire against Stannis Baratheon's fleets. The sky, the sea, it was all lit up – it was terrifying. When he came to me, I could see that it had frightened him too. I know how strange this sounds, but when Sandor came to me, I saw in him that little boy again. I wished to console him.'

'Your feelings for him appear to be genuine, and warranted too.'

'They are, your Grace. Sandor Clegane is a good man - he's my friend. I don't have many any more, haven't had anyone to trust for years. He has always been honest with me, and now I understand why he hates liars, I hate them too. He has saved me many times, from the mob who would have raped me, from the guards who beat me, from the Lannisters and Littlefinger. I would give anything if it meant that I could finally pay this debt. I owe Sandor my life.'

'Your brother was crowned King of the North, the first in three hundred years. What sort of man was he?'

'He was very young to be made a King, I think. But Robb was a good man, he was just, and he fought with honour. I loved him very much, as I love all of my family still.' Sansa had finally got control of her emotions again and struggled to retain her grip on them as she took a steadying sip of her wine.

'I intend to take back the Iron Throne, to reclaim what is rightfully mine. I know what it is to suffer for the sins of others, especially those wrought by family. I always believed your father to be a traitor who met a traitors end, but Barristan Selmy would have me believe otherwise. He claimed that Ned Stark was no enemy to me, that he refused to participate in my murder when I was with child. Even if that meant rejecting the title of Hand of the King.'

'Yes, and Barristan Selmy is known far and wide as a man of honour. A true knight.'

'That may be true, but surely you can see how I might struggle to accept this claim of his? After all, Eddard Stark played a key part in Baratheon's rebellion. The Lannister's may have personally arranged for the murder of Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon, but history remembers them fighting on the same side as your father.'

'Starks and Lannister's are not alike, your Grace - I can promise you that much.'

'Another notion that I find hard to accept. It always appeared as though there was little difference between your houses. That you were all just as guilty as each other.'

Sansa felt herself bristle at this viewpoint. She was used to being surrounded by people who wished her family ill, who dubbed them traitors. Now she refused to take such slander against her name.

'Starks are loyal. They no more resemble the Lannister's than Sandor resembles his brother. History remembers your father as a mad man who ordered the execution of innocents, my grandfather and uncle among them.'

'My brother Rhaegar was said to be an honourable man, and Viserys was something else entirely. Nevertheless, I have lived with the consequences of both of their deeds. As I have suffered for the crime of being born the daughter of a mad King.'

The silence at the table was heavy suddenly, and both young women watched each other. Sansa felt the danger, had keen enough senses to know that she should be alerted by now.

'The Usurper may be dead, but another Lannister sits on the Throne. My claim is sound, and I will take back what is rightfully mine by any means necessary.'

'As you say, your Grace.' Sansa was growing afraid that she had played this entire meeting all wrong. Should she have lied after all? Had she just put herself and Sandor in more danger?

'I have one more question for you, Lady Sansa of House Stark. I know that the North was independent long ago, and many of the great Northern houses rallied behind your brother when he declared war against Joffrey. Tell me truly, do you believe that the North should be independent once again?'


	11. Justice Served

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daario Naharis comes to speak with Sandor Clegane in his cell.

Sandor lost count of the hours that had passed since Sansa exited his cell. It could have been one or several, Sandor was too deep in thought to notice one way or another.  
  
He was still puzzling over her words, why had she said such a strange thing before kissing him? The fact that she had kissed him at all was startling and hard enough to understand or accept. Still, he would hardly have forgotten kissing her before, would he? Could he ever have been that drunk? He had his doubts.  
  
Replaying the moment again and again in the darkness was the sweetest torture, and he could not help thinking that he would have waited another lifetime for that moment. Sansa must surely be unaware of how that simple caress had affected him. He imagined that she had no real clue what she had done to his tired, old heart. She would never believe it.  
  
Maybe she would laugh at him for being thirty-one years old and having such a limited experience expressing love? Somehow he doubted that though.  
  
The fact was, he had frequented many establishments where some extra coin would have purchased a kiss or two. The more experienced and practical whores could see past his disfigured face if he would pay the price.  
However, this was an instance where his own blind, foolish, idealism had revealed itself. He would willingly drop coin on cunt, but he would have infinitely preferred going his whole life without being kissed than to have to pay to receive something so meaningful and sacred to him.  
  
So, she had taken her kiss, and he was still hanging onto the memory, like a balm, it soothed his troubled mind. She had not looked displeased either. She had even smiled at him, seemingly liking what she'd felt in that dungeon.  
  
He'd been expecting guards when she'd shown up and expressed her intention of freeing him. When the door sounded once more, he was tired and ready to march to his execution as willingly as he'd entered captivity.  
  
It was not his little bird returning to him this time, even in the darkness - he could tell that much. It was the figure of a man. As he stepped closer, Sandor could see that this man did not wear the helmet of an Unsullied.  
  
He didn't realise how deeply the cuffs were cutting into his flesh until they were released. He sighed with relief, rubbing the welts left on his wrists, feeling obliged to express gratitude.  
  
'You can thank me with your life.' came the somewhat teasing reply.  
Sandor squinted in the darkness, waiting where he was while the man fetched a flaming torch from outside of the cell and returned to him again.  
  
'Daario.'  
  
'Stranger! Or should I be calling you by your given name now? Sandor of House Clegane.'  
  
'Call me as you wish. Makes no difference to me.'  
  
'I was rather fond of the name Stranger.'  
  
'I know.' Sandor returned, half smiling at the way that particular lie had entertained his Captain.  
  
'And I still command you, tonight at least, so you will remain Stranger for the time being.'  
  
'As you say.'  
  
'You know, I admit that I am somewhat confused by all that has transpired here. You insisted I get you an audience with a powerful Queen who has spent her entire life cursing your family name. I can't tell if you have bigger balls than any man that ever lived, or if you are simply the worlds biggest fool.'  
  
'Well, I'm not showing you my balls, and I've certainly made plenty of fool mistakes – so there is your answer.'  
  
'To ride here voluntarily, to turn yourself in like that. What were you thinking?'  
  
'Merely that the girl wasn't safe at our camp. Would you have left her there?'  
  
'Perhaps not, but then again, I never did like sharing. Was the Northern girl worth dying for, then?'  
  
'Always was...' Sandor replied, hanging his head, hoping Daario could not tell how completely he meant that.  
  
'Well, I would not have taken you for the noble sort. I'm even a little disappointed, Stranger. We had so much more blood to spill together, and you would throw it all away for the favour of a young girl?'  
  
'It's not her favour I seek. To keep her out of harm's way would have been more than enough for me.'  
  
'Well, it would appear that your efforts have not been in vain, and favours given will be returned...'  
  
'What is that?'  
  
'You have your freedom. Queen Daenerys has been talking with Lady Sansa for some time. I just received word that you are free to return to camp and I thought that I would deliver this happy news to you, myself. Why do you not smile?'  
  
'Sansa, what will happen to her?'  
  
'I'm sure that I don't know. However, if the Queen wanted her dead - then she would have seen it done hours ago.'  
  
This fact didn't reassure Sandor, he paused, uncertain as Daario turned to leave the cell. Cersei Lannister had not killed Sansa when she could have. Instead, she kept her prisoner, used her for her own, personal gain and allowed her to be tortured and beaten into submission.  
Although it was paramount to him that Sansa was alive and well, he still needed more reassurance of her safety than that.  
  
'What are you waiting for, brother? We are to ride back to camp before first light. I will allow you a few hours for recovery, and then we must discuss the Meerenese Navy.'  
  
'I am allowed to rejoin the ranks?'  
  
'Yes, I also had words with our fair Queen. I told her of all your deeds under the Second Sons, the many battles you have won. I convinced her that you were more valuable to her alive and fighting in her name. Ser Grandfather Selmy backed me up there. He said that you were known as a fierce, capable warrior in your homeland. Your Lady Sansa seems to have done you the greatest good, though.  
However, before we return to camp, there is one final matter that requires my attention. You have probably guessed by now that I am fond of you, this much is true, but know this Stranger. If you ever prove yourself disloyal to Daenerys or betray her in any way, then I will cut your throat myself.'  
  
'Understood.' Sandor nodded, smiling grimly.  
  
'Excellent, and now we can look to the future again. Blood and glory await us!'  
  
'I would not leave until I have seen Lady Sansa again.'  
  
'She is still in talks with our Queen, and I am not about to disturb them. Stranger, you've just been bestowed the gift of freedom! Surely you would rather leave now while you still have your head on your shoulders?'  
  
'I just wished to speak to her once more...' Sandor hung back still, uncertain, clearly confusing Daario greatly.  
  
'You can speak to her again when we return. I intend on delivering the news of our success to Daenerys personally - you can rest assured of that. You must accompany me when I do - it can only earn her favour.'  
  
'You speak of victory already?'  
  
'I am assured of it with you fighting by my side. Think of all we could conquer together? Taking Daenerys is my dearest wish, and I think she warms to me with each passing day. As I told you before - if you help me earn my way between those sweet thighs, then I will see you fairly compensated. I am a man of my word. I trust you will be too, from now on?'  
  
'I will. I never had much use for lies until I met Sansa.'  
  
'Well, if it's of any consequence, your plan seems to have worked out after all. Sansa is safe here. The palace is the most secure place for a sweet young thing like her.'  
  
Sandor knew well enough that he had no choice. He could not intrude on her conversations with Daenerys, and chances were slim that he could get anywhere near the women without paying with his life.  
  
Having his freedom back should have been enough and knowing that she played no small part in his liberation beggared belief. To an old dog like him, having his honour defended by a beautiful young noblewoman was the stuff of fairy tales.  
  
Fighting was what had afforded him the chance to find her again, to bring her this far, so it would have to be his best way back to her once more.  
  
'Are you ready to ride now?' Daario demanded, seemingly sensing that Sandor had reached a decision.  
  
'Aye, I require some sleep - and then I am at your command.'  
  
'Exactly what I wish to hear! Oh, there's something else I promised to deliver to you.'  
  
'What is that?' Sandor was confused as Daario handed over a bulging cloth bundle and a skin of wine.  
  
'Your Lady Sansa suggested you might be hungry, said something about only eating horse meat? Any matter, she asked the Queen if she could share some of her meal with you.'  
  
Sandor laughed at the offering, determining to explore what was inside the cloth once he was alone and settled in his tent.  
He had almost forgotten how hungry he was, whatever repast she had sent him would be most welcome and would taste all the finer because it had come from her.


	12. Rising of the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa Stark and Daenerys Targaryen discuss love and power.

Sansa had been resident in the great pyramid of Meereen for almost a month. Not as a captive but as an honoured guest. It was hard to believe that she had arrived as Efa, a prospective cupbearer or handmaiden in waiting. She had once begged for mercy. Now she felt quite at home there.

The nobility in Meereen lived in steeped pyramids, and the great pyramid located in the central plaza of the city was the largest of them all, with thirty-three levels.

On the ground floor, there were stables, stalls and storerooms. The next level boasted an extensive armoury, and above that, a training hall.

The impressive audience hall where Daenerys had first met with Sansa and Sandor was on the thirty-second level, and Sansa's quarters were right below this great room.

Not many people living there spoke the common tongue, but Sansa was still infinitely happier than she ever had been in Kings Landing. The guards never beat or mortified her, and whenever she encountered Jorah Mormont or Ser Barristan Selmy, they always bowed and had a kind word to share.

Queen Daenerys had gone to great lengths to make her comfortable in Sandor's absence. She now had Irri and two other handmaidens in attendance. Occasionally at night, Irri would also warm Sansa's bed and tell her stories.

Sansa had arrived in the great pyramid hungry, scared and in possession of only one dress. Daenerys had since gifted her several beautiful tokars cut from the finest materials.  
Sansa was not used to wearing such revealing gowns, but the climate and culture called for the adjustment. It had taken some time to master walking in them without tripping or falling over. This practice entailed taking small steps, and fortunately, she had a good sense of balance.

In the evenings, when Daenerys had more free time, the young women would dine together and sometimes talk long into the night.

One such evening, Daenerys invited Sansa to her private chambers at the pyramid's apex to eat dessert with her while watching the sunset.

Daenery's chambers were beautiful and surrounded by fragrant pools and lush greenery. There were low, brick parapets and the views from this height were breathtaking. The pyramids were built of different coloured bricks, as were all the buildings in the city, and they looked particularly striking under the blush, waning light of a setting sun.  
Growing among the greenery were patches of wild mint, lemon trees, sweet dusk roses and other night-blooming flowers.

Since learning that Sansa favoured lemon cakes, Daenerys had insisted that these were served to her at least twice a week. The dessert that evening consisted of these little zesty treats, persimmon tarts and an array of exotic fruits.  
The Queen drank apricot wine, and Sansa joined her. Although not accustomed to drinking alcohol, Sansa appreciated the flavour of this light, honeyed vintage.

The young women sat side by side while the blood-red sun hung lower and lower before disappearing below the horizon, and the stillness of night descended on Meereen.  
The evening grew darker, but the women were still able to see each other by the light of the rising moon.

'You seem to be settled here now.' Daenerys mused as she looked out across the tops of the other pyramids dotted around the darkened city below.

'Yes, your Grace. It is quite beautiful here, and I think I'd almost forgotten what it was like to feel truly safe. I wasn't sure I would ever feel that way again, without Sandor to protect me.' she confessed, taking in the shapes of the city and wondering about him, hoping he was safe out there, wherever he may be.

'You expect he will return from battle?'

'Sandor does not die easily, though he is still in my daily prayers. I feel sure that I will see him again.'

'I mean no offence, and I hope this does not cause you discomfort but has he ever touched you?'

'No, you're grace. He's never touched me.'

'Did he ask you to touch him?'

'Never. I am still a maid.'

'But, you were married to Tyrion Lannister, were you not?'

'I was, but he did not touch me. He expressed a desire to, but then he seemed to change his mind. He said that I was still a child.'

'I see, he sounds quite a rare sort of man then. For many men, their desire overwhelms your fear or even their concerns.'

'He was. Although I could not love him, he was a kind husband. He didn't abuse me.'

'You have a low estimation of marriage.' Dany observed then, with a sad smile.

'No, just of Lannister's, your Grace.' Sansa replied, quite matter of factly.

'And there have been no other men in your life?'

'I was engaged to Joffrey Baratheon, but the memory causes me nothing but pain. I had rather hoped to marry Ser Loras Tyrell someday, but the Lannister's insisted that I wed Tyrion instead.

Lord Baelish used to kiss me sometimes, and often at night, he would ask that I sit on his lap while he told me about his day. More often than not, he would wish to discuss his memories of my mother. He said that we resembled each other and that he had passionately loved her once.'

'Did you love this knight, Ser Loras?'

'I thought I did once, but I'm not sure it was love...he was certainly beautiful.'

'Maybe it was just lust?'

'Maybe.' Sansa admitted, hanging her head and blushing at the thought of how enchanted she'd been by his sweet smile and perfect features.

'If we are to sit together and speak of love, then let's forgo the formalities, shall we? I would prefer that you call me Dany.'

'As you wish, Dany.'

'That's better. I find you are quite the beauty. I'm surprised that you have managed to retain your maidenhead for so long. I was a child myself when my brother sold me to Khal Drogo.'

'Your brother sold you?' Sansa exclaimed, looking thrown by this fact.

'Drogo was to provide him with troops, enough to help him reclaim the iron throne, in exchange for my hand in marriage.'

'What became of your brother?'

'Justice.' Dany replied vaguely. 'For a long time, I hated Viserys. He had no affection for me, nor I for him. I hated him most of all when he turned me over to such a fearsome Dothraki warrior.  
Now, were he still alive – I would thank him for the blessing my marriage turned out to be.'

'Did Khal Drogo die in battle?'

'He succumbed to injuries taken during combat, but I will never believe that it was his time. His hair grew so long, the Dothraki only cut it when they lose a battle, and he never had.  
He called me the moon of his life, and he was shekh ma shieraki anni, my sun and stars. These expressions of love come from Dothraki mythology, where the sun is the husband of the moon.  
Irri knows all of these stories. Ask her to tell you more about them.  
Losing Drogo was the end of my world, the end of life as I knew it, and I know that I will never love another as I loved him.'

'So, he was kind to you?' Sansa could not help but betray her surprise at this estimation of a horse lord. She knew precious little about the Dothraki or their culture but what she had heard sounded harsh and even somewhat savage.

'He could be rough, but he was never unkind. At first, I thought he was more beast than man. Then I came to desire him above all men. When we lay together, it was like-'

'Like what?' Sansa, rapt, hung on Dany's words, her breath baited.

'The way I imagine flying feels. I watch my dragons when they soar through the air, and it never ceases to amaze me. That glorious power, that dance that is freedom itself, it's what they are born to do. That is what it feels like to be with the one you love.'

'I should like to feel that way someday.' Sansa confessed then before she could stop herself.

'Yes, I should like to again someday as well. Though I fear not even a Queen can count on being so lucky twice.'

'Does it hurt?' Sansa blushed as she asked the question she had always thought far too intimate to ask. Dany laughed in response, taking a sip of fruit wine before responding.

'It does, at first and sometimes, afterwards as well. It is a necessary pain, though. Without the pain, you will never reach the pleasure.'

'And the pleasure is worth the pain?'

'Without a doubt.' Dany intimated, leaving Sansa's mind reeling.

'When I was staying at the pillow house in Lys, Baelish showed me a man and a woman together. She was seated on top of him. I didn't know that it could be like that. I thought that the man took the woman...'

'It can be performed in many ways.'

'But – don't men prefer to lie atop a woman – to take charge?'

'Not always. Even powerful warriors sometimes need to be led, you know? If you have a good man, he will want to see you take your pleasure. He will not mind sharing power.'

'Have you ever –?'

'Tried it that way? Of course. The Dothraki have a custom where anything of importance happens under the open sky, where all the world can see.  
I led Drogo out into the camp one night, and our tribe watched as I took him inside of me. I had never felt such pure joy before. That was the night we became one.'

Before Sansa could help herself, the image came unbidden into her mind's eye. She pictured Sandor stretched out on the earth, his great, hairy body sheened with sweat as she loved him. All the while showing him just how powerful she could be.

'That was also the night we made our son, Rhaego. It was on a night such as this - the moon was bright and full.'

'Where is your son now?'

'That is a story for another day.' Dany mused, looking forlorn as she stared off into the distance.

The sky framing the silvery moon turned a deep, sapphire blue. There were no clouds to be found anywhere. It was so suddenly and serenely beautiful that Sansa forgot herself for a moment.

'So, you say that you had no love for Tyrion Lannister. Do you think he harboured feelings for you?'

'I don't believe he did. He was the only Lannister to show me any kindness, so I suppose, in that sense, I was lucky. It seems surreal to recall that we are married still. I never think of myself as his wife.'

'You never desired that union, and you say, he never consummated it – by the law of the land, he is not your husband. If the Lannister's hoped to inherit your claim on the North, why not deny them now by having the marriage annulled?'

'Would that be possible, without Tyrion present?'

'We shall look into it. I'm sure that we can arrange something that is legally sound.'

'I would be most grateful. It was, as you said, no true marriage, and I should still like to marry for love someday – as you did.'

'Our love grew. I did not have any such feelings for Drogo when we first married. I feared him.'

That seemed a strange way to start a marriage or love affair, but Sansa found it oddly relatable too. She was not yet willing to admit why even with lurid images of Sandor turning over in her mind.

She had barely thought of Tyrion since leaving Kings Landing, and in truth, had never really considered him her husband at all. It seemed strange that she should suddenly be so captivated by the prospect of being released from her vows. Was she just thrilled by the notion of being free to take another husband someday? A man of her choosing.

'I realised quite early on in our travels with the Dothraki that Viserys would never take back the seven kingdoms. He was no dragon. Viserys did not have the strength for leadership, nor could he ever have inspired love and loyalty. You, I think, would have the makings of a fine Queen.'

'I had hoped once that I might. I saw how cruel Cersei was, and I told myself that if I should rule someday, then I would make the people love me.'

'It took some bravery, I think, to admit to me when we first met that you believed your brother's crowning was just and that the North should be free. If you feel that way, then you are the natural successor. You should be Queen in the North.'

'Such thoughts had not even occurred to me. According to reports, my home has taken considerable damage, and several enemies have occupied it in my absence. Without soldiers, I stand no chance, and besides, the Lannister's would likely kill me if I ever tried to return to Winterfell. Then there's Baelish. I am sure his spies would track me down within days of returning from the Free Cities.'

'If you had the guards to protect you, you might be able to rally the Northern houses to your cause. They supported your brothers claim - so they will support yours. You could inspire them to help you retake your home, to fight by your side.'

'It is my dearest wish to go home again. I hope someday to be reunited with my siblings as well. Still, I cannot count on such dreams coming to life. Or rather, perhaps I ought not to.'

'Well, I cannot speak as to when you might be with your siblings again, but I would be willing to help you. If you pledge to support my claim to the Iron Throne, then I will do all in my power to reinstate you in Winterfell and see you crowned Queen of the North.'

'I don't know what to say.'

'Say yes, and let us make it so. We will rules Westeros as friends, sisters even. Say yes, and we will toast this new alliance here and now, forging a new path together. We will work as one to take back what is rightfully ours.'

'I say let it be so, to the sunset kingdoms!' Sansa declared, her heart burning with joy as she held her goblet up to Daenerys.

Sansa drank the sweet wine before looking up into the full lusty moon with true longing. That night she slept easy and dreamed of love and power.


	13. Maiden Fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daario Naharis teaches Sandor Clegane a thing or two about women.

Sandor took joy in killing. Born into a world where he was discarded like rubbish and dismissed by so many, it was no wonder.  
In his mind, he would always be a helpless boy who had lost all faith in the Gods and had no hope for salvation. Killing gave him a feeling of power and control that he could never deny. And he was good at it. There was that too.

All in all, people being scared of him had worked out very nicely. Before he delivered the first blow with his sword, he would have struck fear into the hearts of his enemies, giving him an even greater chance of victory.  
He counted on that extra edge, never took it for granted, but saw it as one of few blessings that his hideous scars had brought him.

Sansa was the only person he didn't want to scare away. He only showed her the gnashing teeth of the hound when he needed to protect her. Or when he was wary of his desire for her, which sadly, was so often the case now.

As diverted as Daario had been by the mystery and allure of the Stranger, he now insisted that Sandor discard his scarf and wear his scars out in the open.

After a lengthy battle taking the Meereenese Navy, Daario was in high spirits and ablaze with anticipation. On the night before their return to the Great Pyramid, he invited Sandor to drink wine in his tent to celebrate the victory and look to the future.

Sandor liked Daario's company well enough, and he wasn't one to turn down a drink, but he knew what had truly inspired this celebration, and taking ninety-three ships had little to do with it.

'You know, I have never fucked a queen before? Now to have satisfaction within my reach, so close I can nearly taste it. I wonder how she will taste compared to all the others? Given the wait and all the blood I've spilt, so sweet, I'll bet, like wild honey. I'm liable to spread her open and fuck her right there on that marble throne...'

Sandor shook his head and swallowed his wine, thinking it was just as well that Daario was such a strong fighter because he was a fool in other respects. He could understand fighting for coin and even for power, but honestly, to kill so many men for the mere taste of a woman's cunt. It made little sense to him.

Daario was delivering platitudes about the shape of the Queen's breasts and how they would fit his hands when two young followers arrived at the entrance to his tent.

'What do we have here? Come in, why don't you?' Daario flashed a wicked smile as the women entered his tent and dropped their cloaks to the floor. Both were naked as the day they were born.

Sandor grumbled that it was clear his captain would have his hands full for the rest of the evening and made to leave.

'No! Stay, brother. We have not yet finished drinking! You girls are true beauties, and were it any other time in my life - I would drown in you both until sunrise. As it is, I am saving myself for another. No matter - you may still find love tonight. Sandor, why don't you take them?' Daario suggested so casually, as though they were a new pair of gloves.

Sandor saw the clear apprehension in the women's faces and clammed up at the thought. It was apparent enough that they had not counted on pleasuring the likes of him.

'No, I'm just here to drink.' he justified, secretly resentful. He had to laugh at the way young naked beauties just threw themselves at Daario. What would it feel like to be wanted that way?

'Very well, how about you both put on a show for us then? I would like to see how you chase your pleasure.'

Daario moved off his pallet and sat besides Sandor, gesturing for the women to take his place and entertain him. Sandor looked on, confused and highly aroused, as the women smiled at the suggestion and started trading kisses before trailing their fingers over each other's bodies.

One of them giggled, seemingly ticklish. This moment of lightness was enough to set off the girls companion, and they laughed between kisses and then slid down onto the pallet, still kissing and gently wrestling each other for control.

He'd never seen anything like this. They used their tongues everywhere. They seemed to know just what they wanted and how to deliver it too. Breasts were licked and suckled. Nipples raised into wet, aching peaks. It was as one girl spread her thighs that Sandor felt like he was never really born.

He was green in many respects. A closely guarded secret that he disclosed to no-one. After suffering so much scorn over his appearance, he stuck to the same practice in pillow houses. He would drink his fill, and on the occasion when he felt backed up, he'd take a woman as rough as he liked from behind.

Not particularly inspired perhaps, but it saw to his needs well enough. They would sometimes make some noise for him, but nothing like the sounds these young women were coaxing from each other.

He had never played with a woman's breasts, but apparently, they were sensitive, and the sight of them aroused was incredibly gratifying.

Daario was shameless, grinning at the sight and casually pouring out Sandor more wine while he watched the scene unfold.

How would they fuck into each other? Would a finger be enough to bring satisfaction? Then one girl opened the other like a flower and tasted her. He swallowed a strangled groan as he was afforded an incredible view and grew rock hard.

The smell of arousal was heavy in the tent now, and it only increased in intensity as the young woman's cunt was teased with tongue and teeth. She let out a low moan as she accepted two and then three fingers inside her. Sandor watched closely, fascinated by it all.

Either these two young women were the finest performers he'd ever encountered, or their bodies were capable of things he would never have dared imagine possible. Sandor got the impression that the whole performance could have been over a lot quicker if the women were not deliberately drawing out the experience for Daario.

When one girl finished with a throaty wail, she wore her smile of satisfaction for long minutes afterwards and then attended to her companion. Sandor felt tested by then, his cock was throbbing to the point of pain, and the sight of the finished woman's naked upturned arse was getting to him. On her knees and bent over at the waist, she was spread right open while she suckled her friends cunt, and essence was shiny on her inner thighs.

'Are you sure you don't want some of that?' Daario muttered to Sandor, nudging him in encouragement.

'No, as I said, I'm here to drink.'

Sandor didn't want to take either of the women who had come there expressly for Daario. Nor did he want to fuck in front of his captain either.

After the most thrilling show of his life, Sandor hobbled away to his tent and stripped directly. As he discarded his clothes, he found the delicate blue ribbon Sansa had gifted him.

The food she had sent him off to battle with was ample, but most of it was gone within forty-eight hours. When Sandor had found a little bag of dates in the parcel, he took it to be a light joke on Sansa's part.  
Dried fruit was all he'd managed to feed her on the way to the camp, and he still felt guilty about that. Then he noticed the ribbon that fastened the bag of dates shut. It was the same ribbon that she'd worn in her hair during their journey together.

This ribbon was the colour of a frost rose and silky smooth against his fingers. He smiled and pressed it to his mouth, inhaling deeply, trying to find Sansa's scent on it again. He envisioned her removing it just for him. The notion did Sandor so much good.

He'd travelled and fought with the token close to his heart for long weeks, so the natural smell of her was now faint. Still, it was enough. Sandor clutched it tight in his fist as he wrapped his other hand around his manhood and started stroking fast.

What those girls had done to each other, would Sansa enjoy those things? He usually spat on his cock before fucking into a woman, but he imagined how glorious it would be to make Sansa so wet and ready before entering her.

Would she be scandalised if he licked between her thighs? Would she like it if he tasted her deeply and made her peak that way before sliding home inside of her?

Such thoughts ended him quickly. He strained and huffed, gritting out Sansa's name under his breath as he emptied all over his stomach and onto his fist.

On the ride back to the Great Pyramid, Sandor could not resist the urge to ask Daario if only women knew how to make each other peak that way? Daario laughed at the question. He was in high spirits again, and his smile grew the closer they got to their destination.

'No, they can easily conquer what they own, that is for sure. But men can learn too, a valuable skill, no less. You've seen how wet they get, how they are liable to beg for more. Me, I love to do such things to women and more besides.  
On the cunt is a sweet spot, you tease this with tongue or fingers, and they grow slick as an eel. Master this, and they find release. The woman will call you more God than man, and you can be sure she will let you in. They always open their legs for you again. They especially enjoy my tongue. Have you never feasted on their flesh, then?'

'Never really saw the point.' Sandor admitted, shrugging.

'There are more reasons than you can count to drink a woman's sweet nectar. The finest women go down like honeyed wine.' he smacked his lips at that point.

'Cunt tastes of wine?' Sandor demanded doubtfully.

'Cunt itself tastes of something even finer. A woman's release is like honey, flower sweet and smooth. Once you've tasted it, you'll only want more, trust me...'

Daario laughed again before launching into a passionate speech detailing all that he would do to and for Daenerys with his tongue when they reached the Pyramid at long last.

Sandor rode on in silence, hearing Daario but not listening to a word he said anymore. He was too distracted. Knowing that there was such a sizeable gap in his education was unsettling. It appeared that he had been missing out on a lot, and it inevitably made him feel bitter that he'd never felt at liberty to try such things with anyone.

His pride had taken a knock too. Sandor had always thought him a worldly enough sort of man. He had travelled, survived many battles, heard colourful tales, drank his fair share of wine and taken plenty of cunt in his day.

But now, he had seen something altogether different, and he knew he wouldn't be able to forget what he'd witnessed in Daario's tent anytime soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit and thanks to Lori and MarVleermuis for suggesting that Sansa include a nice little extra something for Sandor in his food bundle :)


	14. Two Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa Stark comforts Daenerys Targaryen after she's been forced to make a difficult decision.

The wedding night felt different now. Sansa no longer lay terrified, in waiting for Tyrion Lannister. It wasn't even partially about him anymore.

In the depths of her soul, Sansa knew these dreams had never really been about her husband. He had nothing to do with the elusive resolution she was still seeking either.

The tall, dark, looming figure had a face, had a harsh, rough voice. This figure was familiar, this voice was well known to Sansa, and the man they belonged to was welcome there.

Sansa's eyes were wide open, searching his, waiting for him. The same eyes that had once been sealed shut, afraid of what they would find. 

She was no longer frozen in place, held captive by the clutches of fear and denial. Anticipating that which she could not love or accept.

Hands that had wrought so much destruction were reaching for her. Trying to possess her, and she wanted them to.

She smiled at him and knew that he wouldn't stop. She was ready to beg him to continue at all costs. All she wanted was to accept him into her arms, inside of her body, to lose herself in the moment.

His body was heavy, and when he climbed on top of her, she felt the weight of him with a satisfied hum of approval.  
This feeling, him, now, she needed everything he had before it was too late. Before he inevitably left her again.

His eyes owned her before his hands had a chance to, those steel grey eyes combined with his huge, strong hands, they had her wet and keening out for him to not waste any more time.

As he smiled at her impatience, she huffed and pouted, told him he was so cruel to make her wait this way.

That's when the joke ended, he parted her knees, his fingers trailing along her inner thighs as he whispered those words, those haunting, cursed words that she could not forget -

'I'll have that song now...'

She had been waiting for this, she was receptive to his touch, and Sansa was ready to sing just as he bid her – the sweetest song, the one she'd been saving for him alone.

Sansa woke up with a start, her heart pounding in her chest. She fought to take a breath, gasping uncontrollably for a moment, confused and ashamed as she realised that it had happened to her again.

That's when it dawned on her that the pounding wasn't just her heart. Someone was knocking on her chamber door with great persistence.

She got out of bed and walked on shaky legs to the barrier, instinctively worried by who might be seeking her at this hour.

She had not expected Missandei. The woman gave her a surprised and puzzled look, and Sansa knew why. She could feel beads of sweat cooling on her brow and explained in a rush that she'd had no rest yet.

'Lady Sansa, Queen Daenerys would have words with you in her chamber. Make haste, if you will.'

Sansa agreed without question and said she just needed a moment to prepare herself. With her chamber door shut again, she tried to slow her breathing.

These dreams weren't fair. They taunted Sansa, left her feeling all alone. They happened so often now too, and each time she woke in this condition, sweating, frantic, twisted up with confusion and need.

She always woke before Sandor could touch her the way she wished he would. Then she would lay there in bed, slick between her thighs and longing to delve straight back into the dream, right where she'd left off if the Gods were good. They had not yet favoured her in this regard, though.

Sansa was unable to imagine a time when Sandor had not been invading her nightly dreams. It felt like the promise of his touch had been haunting her for a long time.

Still, not wanting to keep Daenerys waiting, she threw a shawl around her shoulders, clutching it about herself protectively as she walked to the Queen's chambers.

Missandei entered ahead of her and returned soon after, looking grave and speaking low when she said that Sansa should let herself in.

So she did, finding Daenerys in her sleeping gown, looking every bit as lost and restless as she felt, except she was crying silent tears. They were streaming down her face, and the hand she held out to Sansa was unsteady.

'What has happened, Dany? Are you well?'

'I have lost him – my bear, the first of my Queens guard, my friend...'

'Ser Jorah? Is he dead?'

'In a way...' Daenerys shuddered a breath, trying to control her sobbing as Sansa took her hand and sat beside her on the bed.

'It is me. I have signed Jorah's death warrant. I have banished him.'

'But why?' Sansa couldn't have been more confused. Furthermore, she had never seen Daenery's cry like this before.

Since they had struck their alliance, she had been observing all her audience's, admiring her more and more, learning from her. She was a fair ruler, so Sansa couldn't imagine what Ser Jorah had done to deserve banishment.

'I learned that he was employed to spy on me by Robert Baratheon. I thought he was my most trusted, most loyal friend. When he lay siege to Meereen, I almost hoped he would die then. To save me the grief of turning him away, of judging him. I hoped that I could forgive him, believed I should, but then to know that he told Robert Baratheon about my son...'

Sansa squeezed her hand in unspoken understanding. She knew now what had happened to Rhaego. Like the loss of her husband, losing her son was a wound that would never heal. It would appear that judging from her current state of distress and grief, Daenery's would not soon be recovering from this loss either.

'What could I do? How could I ever trust him again?'

'What does your heart tell you?'

'I don't trust my heart in these matters. I did the only thing that made any sense. Jorah betrayed me. He was false all along.'

Sansa fought the urge to defend Mormont, there was no denying his crimes, but even she could tell that he was in love with Daenerys and likely had been all along.

'I know I did the right thing, but how I wish I were wrong about him. I longed for there to be a better way. I told him that should he ever return to Meereen, I will kill him, and I meant it. He was there when I believed I was all alone in the world - when I didn't have anyone else to turn to...'

'You were not supposed to remain alone and friendless, he may have served you once, but you were born to inspire others to follow you. A queen is allowed to feel doubt, as we all do, but you can't torture yourself with your judgements. I am sure that Jorah would not wish you to either.'

'Will you stay awhile? Until I fall asleep?' Daenerys sounded like a child when she made this request, and Sansa agreed without question.

The women got under the sheets, and Sansa kept her arms about her friend while she sobbed and pined for her disgraced knight.

'Did you love him?' Sansa asked an obvious question as Daenerys leaned back against her body for support and comfort.

'No, not the way he needed me to. I think this is why I hurt so. Much like the siege on Meereen, I wished to have a difficult decision taken out of my hands. So, I am almost relieved that he is gone. Because I no longer have to worry about how to handle the love I know he had for me. I told him not to, but I know he still harboured hope, somehow, that I might grow to love him.'

'And you feel like that could never be so?'

'No, if it was going to happen, then it should have happened by now. I know better than anyone that you can grow to love a man, even a man you at first fear and dread. I cannot compare him to Drogo, though I feel bound to do that with every man that stirs feelings in me. Jorah was a strong warrior, a friend, but I could not desire him.'

'Did he tell you that he loved you?' Sansa wondered if Daenerys had just picked up on all the signals that she'd read during her time in the Great pyramid. Sometimes it was so clear that he ached for her. That his love far surpassed that of a loyal subject for his Queen.

'He did, and he kissed me once. He touched me. Even if he hadn't given in to that need, it would have been apparent enough in the way he never wished me to be close to other men. I know he loathes Daario, and I don't think it has anything to do with his lack of principle. Jorah, after all, was a sellsword for a time.'

'Did he try and force himself?on you' Sansa stumbled a little over the words, worried that she was making things worse by asking such things of Daenerys, who was already in such a vulnerable state.

'No, he may have betrayed me, but he always had more honour than that. I told him I did not share his feelings, and he stopped. Sometimes he forced me to be harsh to him, but he would never have presumed to use his strength against me. I know why he continued in his deception. I believe that his love for me was real, but still, I can never forgive him. Had he ever tried to take me against my will, it would have been a death sentence to him. Since Viserys died, I have always had some soldiers that were willing to defend my life. I don't think Jorah left me untouched for the sake of his safety. Even now, I feel I know him better than that.'

'It is hard to lose a true friend. It is very natural to mourn him.'

'Yes, I have soldiers who would die for me - loyal subjects that would follow me to the ends of the Earth, but true friends are a rare thing.

The case even for a Queen, or perhaps, especially for a Queen. It is one part of being a ruler that I cannot embrace. No matter how my legions grow, I feel more and more alone, like no-one loves me for who I am. Jorah may have desired me, but he told me once that I reminded him of his first wife.

I wish to be loved for myself alone. If I can't have that, then I will marry for political gain and be content with this.'

'You can always speak to me if you feel alone. I do admire you as a ruler, but I think what you have achieved as a woman is all the more remarkable. You had many people that would have hurt you or kept you down, yet you prevailed. You were born from the flames, born anew. You have stayed true to yourself, despite all that you have lost. You inspire me.'

'You are good to say so. I admit, when you came here, looking so uncertain and scared – I saw myself in you. I saw that same anxiety I had felt when Viserys handed me over to the Dothraki. On some level, I know we are both alone and have felt that way for a long time. We are natural friends, you and I. Maybe no-one can ever understand what we've lost, but at least we can try and comfort each other and provide a steady hand and faithful heart.'

'I hope until I have retaken Winterfell, I can at least bring you affection and show you the care and respect you deserve.'

'I think you will. You are here now, and I will not forget as much. Friendship, as you say, is a valuable thing.'

'One of the most important gifts in life, certainly.' Sansa stated evenly, hearing as Daenery's breathing regulated.

'I will stay here until you would have me gone. Never fear.' Sansa tightened her arms around her friend's body and hummed an old song to encourage her to sleep.

She didn't realise until Daenery's had finally relaxed and let go that she had been humming a love song. One of the many songs that she'd heard when Baelish had married Aunt Lysa, 'Two Hearts that Beat as One.'

Sansa did not attempt to extricate herself, settling instead further down into the bed and hoping that her dreams would be easier to wake from come the light of the morning.


	15. Sacred Vows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor Clegane and Daario Naharis return to the Great Pyramid after capturing the Meereenese Navy.

Sandor felt strange entering the Great Pyramid unmasked, with his head held high and no fear in his heart. Daario seemed all but certain that the victory the Second Sons had struck against the Meerense Navy would win him the favour of Daenerys, and Sandor too, by extension.

The initial reception they received wasn't frosty but nor was it warm, either. Daenerys deigned to nod at the soldiers as they stood before her throne and bowed in respect.

'My Queen, I-'

'Have captured the Meerense Navy, yes. I have received reports of this.'

'But how-?'

'Just as you have your ways Naharis, so do I have mine. I am more than capable of looking after my interests. I don't recall ever ordering you to take such action on my behalf.'

Sandor cursed under his breath at this point. He had assumed that capturing the Navy was carried out under express orders from the Queen.

'I dared to anticipate your innermost desires. To see your will carried out. Was I wrong? In your heart, I believe you know that I am your most loyal subject. You needed those fleets. Ninety-three ships, my Queen, all for you. They are under your command as I will forever be.'

Daenerys was flanked, as always, by Barristan Selmy and yet Jorah Mormont was conspicuous in his absence. The look of disapproval on Selmy's face was more than apparent, and he did nothing to hide this much. Greyworm and a host of Unsullied were also in attendance, but they, as usual, gave little away.

'If I were you, I would not presume to know the inner workings of my heart, Naharis. It is not your place to attend to such important matters for me, nor to speak or act on my behalf. Do so again, and I will end my contract with the Second Sons, and you can chase another purse, as you're wont to do.'

'It is not gold or silver that I seek, your Grace.' Daario announced as he took to his knee.

Sandor fought the urge to tell him to shut the fuck up and get to his feet again before his loose tongue got them both banished to the dungeons. Escaping from those depths once was plenty enough for him.

'Really? For a mercenary, that is indeed a strange claim.' Selmy announced coolly, though Daario chose to ignore this judgement.

'It is your favour that I wish to win, sweet Queen. No more – no less. I wish to express my undying devotion to you. No weight in gold could sway me from my course. I cherish any opportunity to please you.'

'Enough! You have pledged your sword to me already. I had assumed that once was sufficient for a man of his word. Moving forward, I will take it as a given that I can count on your loyalty, do not give me cause to doubt you. Also, I trust that you will never again act without my express consent in the future or else face the consequences.

However, I am not insensible to the significance of this latest victory. We may count the ships in numbers, but their value to my cause cannot be estimated so simply or overlooked. You have secured passage for me and my troops, and for that, I am forever grateful.

Your efforts will be well compensated. Furthermore, you and Sandor Clegane have now been assigned quarters within the Great Pyramid. And, as a final token of my esteem, I would welcome you both to my table tonight to dine with me.'

'You are too good, I am sure. You honour us, my Queen.' Daario bowed once more, his face now, the very picture of humility.

Sandor breathed a sigh of relief and started counting his blessings. He'd thought for sure that they were about to be punished.

'Clegane?'

'Yes, your Grace?'

'I do not know how much Naharis divulged to you about the battle you just engaged in, but I will assume that you were acting under express orders.'

Sandor didn't want to contradict Daenerys, and he wasn't willing to betray his Captain. He bowed in response to her suggestion and said nothing.

'It is quite apparent to me that you played a significant role in this victory as Naharis informs me you have in all the Second Sons engagements up to this day. On these grounds, I will see to it that you are also compensated fairly for your efforts.

Lastly, Lady Sansa has expressed a desire to be placed under your protection again. You will be her sword and shield. You will share guard duties with the Unsullied assigned to her care. Given the role she says you have played in her protection up to this point, I assume you will accept this new assignment with no objections?'

'I will, your Grace.' Sandor struggled to conceal his surprise. He'd not yet had the chance to contemplate resting up from his journey. To be so suddenly reassigned, and to this particular position, was something on which he hadn't counted.

'In your absence, I have allied with Lady Sansa of House Stark. She will receive my support in reclaiming her home, and I would see to it that she is named Queen of the North. Lady Sansa, in turn, has promised to support my claim to the Iron Throne.

In light of our alliance, I trust that you will approach this new duty with the reverence it deserves. You're assigned to a position of honour and faithfulness. The coin has little to do with it and if that is all that motivates you, then now is the time to declare yourself.'

'I am not so quick to bite the hand that feeds me, and I can be faithful, your Grace. I pledge my sword and shield to Lady Sansa now before witnesses. Her victories will be mine, as yours will be. In truth, I have never held a position of such esteem before. With respect, Ser Barristan...'

The older man nodded at these words, he looked grim, but there was the light of amusement in his eyes.

Missandei led the soldiers to their respective rooms and said they would have baths filled before dinner that evening.

Sandor was surprised to find three new shirts folded and ready for him at the foot of his bed. Examining each, two in olive green and one in black, he wondered how the Queen had got his sizes and why she saw fit to dress him? Maybe she thought he had nothing to wear to dinner?  
Either way, they were a welcome addition to a wardrobe that had been sadly lacking for many months now.

Sandor knew that Daario would be taking great pains with his attire that evening. He certainly had a flair for expression through colour.

Sandor was not acquainted enough with what was fashionable in Meereen or anywhere else to discern whether or not Daario dressed well. He certainly took pride in his appearance and had a great deal of confidence in how he presented himself to the world.

For Sandor, being clean and well-groomed was all he ever aspired to. It was enough for him, and he didn't think he was about to change anytime soon.

A hot bath was the ideal time to unwind and reflect on the implications of what Sansa had asked of him. Soaking his over-worked muscles was a relief, as was scrubbing off days of sweat, grime and dust.

But when he sat back and tried to relax, a gnawing doubt ate away at him and disturbed the rare moment of peace.

Why had she asked this of him? Of course, he felt bound to comply. She would have known that before even making the request.

He was safer at the camp of the Second Sons, though. Safer surrounded by ruthless sell swords who had no scruples and nothing to lose except their lives.

Sandor was in a far more precarious position now, and he felt that what was hanging in the balance was so much more vital than his existence.

His tension reached new heights when he sat down beside his Captain at a table laden with fine foods opposite Barristan Selmy.

The older man looked unimpressed to be sharing his dining experience with Daario and Sandor, although Naharis seemed to draw far more mistrustful glares from him. It could have been in part because he drew so much more attention in general.

Sandor ate silently, doing everything he could to ignore the fact that Sansa's hair was red again. Her slender arms were bare, and she cut a beautiful shape in the revealing new dress she wore.

Despite himself, Sandor wondered if Daario would make it into the Queen's bed that evening. He'd heard so much about this desired outcome that he could not help guessing about it.

Daenerys seemed far more attentive toward Sansa than anyone else, and Sandor was pleased to observe that much.  
It appeared that, on top of forging a new alliance, the young women had formed an affectionate bond and genuine respect for each other.

Sansa made conversation with Selmy throughout dinner. She was all charm and lightness as she implored him to tell her some stories of his battles and victories.

Sandor never cared to relive his experiences, but Barristan took pride in his deeds, and Sansa listened with avid attention.

It struck him as the older man entertained her so thoroughly that he was as close an example to a true knight as she could ever have hoped to meet. On that basis, he was happy on her behalf.

It was somewhat reassuring to acknowledge that some of her childish ideals held water. There were good men, maybe even good knights too, and it was fortunate that she should see that at last.

Nevertheless, as she smiled and listened to his every word with large, blue, expressive eyes, Sandor felt jealousy sting him.

He could not imagine taking pride in his personal history. For Sandor, there'd been far more of an incentive to forget than recall. That wasn't limited to his fighting days either.

It was clear that Sansa had come to admire Selmy, that a fondness had developed there. Sandor knew that she had probably harboured these feelings before ever arriving in Kings Landing. Everyone knew about the noble deeds of Barristan the Bold.

Usually, he saw fit to scorn her starry-eyed admiration of knights, but this time, he could see why she was fascinated by the knight's achievements. However, understanding as much did not make his feelings of jealousy any less poignant, and he hoped to the Gods that it didn't show.

Moreover, he wanted to ask her why she had seen fit to be so cruel. Why had she asked him to be her shield? Why did she dress so alluringly for dinner only to ignore him the entire time? What in the seven hells did she want of him anyway?

Daario drew the attention of the entire table when he admired Daenery's appearance. Once again, receiving critical looks from the Lord Commander of her Queens Guard.

'You appear more beautiful than ever this evening, my Queen. Is that a new dress? I don't recall ever seeing it on you before?' he looked her over openly while sipping at his wine.

Daenerys had seen fit to ignore Daario throughout the meal, but after a few glasses of wine and now that the experience was winding down, she seemed a little more receptive to his attentions and even smiled at him.

'I thank you, Naharis. It was designed and made for me by Lady Sansa.'

'Is that right? My compliments to the lady. You shall have to make me something someday.'

Daario was all that was smooth and charming as he toasted Sansa with his wine glass and then cast an appreciative eye over Daenery's form again.

Sandor knew then with absolute certainty where his new shirts had come from, and the shy smile that Sansa aimed in his direction was enough to set his heart still.

As the meal came to a close, Sandor wondered how he might get a moment alone with Sansa? He wanted to ask her about many things. So much had happened in his absence, and tomorrow he would be officially in her service. He wondered how freely he might speak to her then?

Whatever he said from then on should be kept formal, and that sounded unbearably oppressive given the feelings and the thoughts he'd been having about her recently. He longed to ask her about the favour, about the new clothes she's sewn for him, about the valuable alliance she'd struck while he was on the battlefield.

With all his heart, he wished to tell her what he'd seen in Daario's tent. The notions he'd had since then haunted him day and night. Now, when he closed his eyes, he didn't see those young women pleasuring each other. He saw himself with his head between Sansa's thighs.  
More than anything else in the world, he wanted to put his new knowledge into action. He desperately needed to know how she would taste.

Sandor saw all opportunity slip through his fingers as they adjourned, and Selmy expressed a desire to walk Sansa to her chambers. She accepted his offer with thanks, as ever, the well brought up, sweet mannered lady.

Sandor silently cursed the older man's gallantry, knowing that he had likely lost his last chance to speak so openly with her, but maybe it was for the best? The thoughts he was having were not appropriate, and it was better he be reminded of that now than make a fool of himself at a later date.

Nevertheless, as Sansa cast another meaningful smile in his direction when quitting the room, he thought for the hundredth time about breaking with convention and finally making her his in body and soul.


	16. Seven Sighs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa Stark asks some questions about the art of love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been edited since it was first published - as I didn't feel satisfied with the final scene. I hope everyone enjoys the update :) Thanks to MarVleermuis for providing me with some valuable feedback. Your insights are always so awesome - thank you!

Sandor accompanied Sansa to the apex of the Great Pyramid. A heavy silence prevailed between them, which neither knew quite how to break.  
  
He'd not long come on duty. His new role demanded that he stay at Sansa's beck and call from sundown till sunrise from now on.  
  
It was the first day of having him guard her, and Sansa already felt like she'd made a terrible mistake by demanding this much of him.  
  
She suddenly realised that her appointment as Queen of the North might have been her salvation in some respects, but as far as her friendship with Sandor went, it appeared to be a huge detriment.  
  
He was as silent and sullen as he ever was on the Kingsguard. Sansa wondered if she might appoint Sandor Lord Commander of her Queensguard after reclaiming Winterfell.  
Then perhaps he would behave towards her the way Selmy did towards Daenerys, respectful but ready with advice and observations.  
  
Sandor never was much for conversation at the best of times, but now he seemed distracted and unable, or unwilling, to meet her gaze or draw her out at all.  
  
'Did you take any injuries when you captured the Meereenese Navy?' Sansa finally found a safe topic that he merely grunted at before relenting slightly.  
  
'Nothing of note, my Queen.'  
  
'I am not your Queen yet, Sandor. Please call me Sansa, as you used to.'  
  
'Things are different now. You saw fit to change a great deal in my absence.'  
  
'And you resent me for that much, do you? It was not my decision – I did not demand that Daenerys support my claim.'  
  
'No, you did well, my lady - I meant no disrespect.'  
  
'Sandor, I should wish – I should very much hope that we are still friends, as we always were before.'  
  
'Things cannot ever be as they were before. No-one could resent you taking what is rightfully yours. You have honoured me with this appointment.'  
  
Sansa could think of no more to say. She was still confused about their exchange as she entered Daenery's private chambers for dessert.  
  
It had become a habit for them now, watching the sun go down, taking wine and fruit together, recounting the events of their day, looking to the future.  
  
'Are you well pleased now that Sandor is back from battle? I imagine you feel all the safer with such a mighty warrior watching over you?' Daenerys asked with a smile on her lips.  
  
'I do feel safer.'  
  
'Yet you do not seem happy.'  
  
'I just have not been sleeping so well recently.'  
  
'Are you unwell?'  
  
'No, my dreams are just – troubled.'  
  
'From your time in Kings Landing?' Daenerys guessed accurately. Sansa almost coloured at the thought but then smiled, nodding vaguely.  
  
'I understand. My dreams have been filled with shadows since I lost Jorah, though I confess, I slept well enough last night.'  
  
Sansa smiled, instinctively assuming that it was Daario who had chased the shadows from Daenery's dreams.  
  
'Is Daario all that he appears to be?' Sanda demanded. She had always suspected that he would be a passionate man and would have been somewhat disappointed to learn otherwise.  
  
'I had wondered once if he was all talk, but he put those thoughts to rest. Though I rather wish he had not marked my neck so.' Daenery's looked out across the city, and Sansa spotted some red bruising on her milk-white throat.  
  
'Did he hurt you?'  
  
'No, I enjoyed it. Honestly, it is a relief to feel my body brought to life again. He had me every way that a man can have a woman. It is worth a little soreness, I assure you.'  
  
'How many ways are there, exactly?' Sansa asked, a little confused and feeling foolish when Daenery's gave in to the need to laugh at the question.  
  
'There are many ways.'  
  
'I can't imagine. I thought that there were only two or three?'  
  
Daenery's laughed again. She seemed light and carefree that evening and Sansa felt a touch of envy. She, by contrast, felt more tightly wound with each passing day, and she could not imagine why that was. If anything, she had nothing but reasons to be grateful. It made her feel like a petulant, unsatisfied child.  
  
'I'm sure you would be surprised at what your body is capable of, Sansa. Daario is an exciting lover, and I must confess, I wish I had welcomed him into my bed sooner. He took me in ways that even Drogo never attempted.'  
  
'Was it romantic?'  
  
'At times. I liked it best when he was rough, though. It can be such a relief, liberating even, to be taken by a man who knows the art of love. He saw me well satisfied before dawn.'  
  
Sansa didn't want to pry, but she was still trying to picture taking a man inside her mouth - it seemed like a strange thing to do. Though she imagined it was quite warm and very wet.  
  
'What are the other ways? You said that there were several...' Sansa blushed as Daenerys helped herself to more fruit. She seemed to have quite the appetite that evening. Between that and her lingering smiles, Sansa felt like an outsider in her midst. She just wanted to ask endless questions and understand a little of what she was feeling.  
  
'Well, they can take you from behind.'  
  
'Like an animal?' Sansa considered the thought with a confusing combination of denial and arousal.  
  
'I suppose you could say as much. Daario made me peak that way and then told me that no hole was safe from him. At first, I thought it was unpleasant, but then I rather liked that too.' Daenery's laughed again, leaving Sansa's mind reeling.  
  
'You can't mean – there!?'  
  
'I can, and I do. Daario prepared me well, of course. It hurt nonetheless, but that is quite natural, I understand.'  
  
'How can you prepare for such a thing?'  
  
'You make it wet.'  
  
'And how do you do this?'  
  
'Let us just say I was glad that olive trees fruited here.'  
  
Sansa could not ask further questions. An impatient knocking at the chamber door signalled the return of Daenery's lover. The women exchanged looks, and Sansa felt tested again when Daenerys blushed by way of apology.  
  
'I need to take my bath' Sansa stood and spared Daenerys the trouble of accounting for the intrusion.  
  
'I can ask him to return later?'  
  
'No need. We can speak again tomorrow.' Sansa stood and kissed Daenery's cheek before letting herself out of the chambers.  
  
Sure enough, she found Daario stood besides Sandor, a winning smile plastered to his face. He bowed, more gallant and exuberant than usual as he told her with poignancy how she grew more beautiful with each passing day.  
  
Given what she had just been hearing about his ardent nature, it was all that Sansa could do to not melt into the ground when he kissed her knuckles.  
  
She thought she heard Sandor release a disgruntled sigh as his Captain wished him a happy watch and entered Daenery's chambers without further delay.  
  
The awkwardness between them seemed to have increased tenfold, and Sandor easily read how distracted she was since taking cups with the dragon queen.  
  
Sansa decided to ask for more fruit wine when she got into her bath that evening. She was being attended to by her handmaiden, Malahar.  
  
Malahar had been teaching her some high Valyrian since being appointed to her service, but that was not the language that Sansa wished to understand better. Not on that evening, at least.  
  
Malahar served her some plum wine and then took her time while washing Sansa's hair, occasionally complimenting her in the common tongue.  
  
'Your hair is lovely, kissed by fire.'  
  
'I thank you, Malahar. You were born in Yunkai, were you not?'  
  
'I was, my lady, I worked as a pleasure slave in the yellow city before Queen Daenerys freed me.'  
  
'Can you tell me about this? About the ways that a man can take a woman.'  
  
'What would you know, my lady?'  
  
'The places a man can enter a woman, how might olives help?'  
  
Malahar seemed confused for all of a second before laughing soundly at the question.  
  
'Ah! The olives make oil - it eases a man's path inside a woman. It is slick.'  
  
'Oil, of course...' Sansa felt triumphant and embarrassed to now understand the reference.  
  
'Have you ever used it that way?' Sansa sipped at her wine, determined to learn as much as she could now.  
  
'I did, my Lady. I was trained from a young age and learned much about the art of love. I know the seven sighs and the sixteen seats of pleasure.'  
  
'Sixteen! Can you tell me more about this?'  
  
'It is sacred, my lady.' Malahar refused her with as much grace as she could, and Sansa felt more than a little disappointed.  
  
As she dried off afterwards, Sansa contemplated all she had learned that day and wondered if Sandor knew about all these things?  
  
Malahar brushed through Sansa's hair and then helped her pull on a new nightdress that she had made for herself with delicate white, sheer fabric.  
  
'Am I staying with you tonight, my lady?'  
  
'No, tonight I would sleep alone. I have no further need of assistance.'  
  
'Until tomorrow then, my lady.'  
  
'Yes, please send in my guard on your way out.'  
  
Sansa was still contemplating her earlier exchange with Sandor with a distinct sense of regret. She did not want things to be so formal between them. Friendship was not necessarily what Sansa sought either. She just wanted to know what it was he wished for before making any further decisions concerning him.  
  
Sansa was still confused as she heard knocking on her door and called out that he should enter.  
  
'You requested my presence, my lady.' Sandor hovered by the entrance to her chamber, appearing unsure of himself.  
  
'I did. Please close the door and join me.' Sandor sealed the door and then walked to where she sat at her dressing table but did not take a chair himself.  
  
'Will you take some fruit wine?'  
  
'It is likely too sweet for me, and I should not take a drink while on duty. You feel the need to take wine before bed now, do you?'  
  
'No, I have merely learned that I enjoy doing so. You prefer sour, do you not?'  
  
'I do.'  
  
Sandor could still smell the perfumed bathwater on her skin and was struggling with the fact that her nightdress was translucent. Even by candlelight, he could see through it well enough. The outline of her rounded breasts and pink nipples were clear, and he suddenly had a vision of shredding the loose open weave off of her and feasting on her clean, fresh body.  
  
'You may have noticed that Ser Jorah Mormont is no longer resident here.'  
  
'I had heard tell of his dismissal, yes.'  
  
'Daenerys told me of his betrayal, and it made me realise how fortunate I am.'  
  
'Why is that?'  
  
'To have a man such as you - protecting me, someone that I can trust always. I can, can't I?'  
  
'Aye, you can trust me.' Sandor rasped with some difficulty. He suddenly felt deeply uncomfortable, especially given the thoughts he was having about her.  
  
'Your new accommodations, do they please you?'  
  
'Very much, they beat my tent, that is for sure.'  
  
'And your shirts? They appear to fit you well. I recall when we were travelling from Lys, you only had one with you.'  
  
'Yes, thank you. You have a good eye.'  
  
'I imagine you have also heard about Daario and Daenerys?  
  
'There's not much he gets into that he doesn't harp on about.' Sandor admitted with a shrug and a wry smile playing at the corner of his mouth.  
  
'What do you think of their union?'  
  
'Union? I know that they're fucking, that's about it. I have not given it much thought. A queen can do as she pleases, I suppose.'  
  
'Can she? What about future queens?'  
  
His stare was hard, feeling his body respond unwillingly to her presence and question both, the tension in the room suddenly too much to stand.  
  
'Why are you asking me this?'  
  
'I just assumed that you would know better than I do, in such matters...'  
  
When Sandor remained silent, Sansa sighed and felt obliged to say what was troubling her most at that moment.  
  
'I fear I have made a mistake in appointing you as my guard.'  
  
'You already fear this, do you?' he seemed somewhat amused by this idea.  
  
'Yes, I had hoped to see more of you, but I suppose it had never dawned on me that appointing you as such would change how we converse. I have always counted on your honesty.'  
  
'And you will always get it.'  
  
'Perhaps when you are not on duty, we can take wine together? I can request some Dornish red.'  
  
'If that is what you wish.'  
  
'I wish that I had the power to please you.'  
  
'Seeing you retake the North would please me.'  
  
Sansa watched him closely, wanted to ask so many more questions, to tell him so many more of her innermost thoughts but had no clue where to begin.  
  
She had requested that Sandor be appointed the role of her guard. He was doing as she wished, and he was acting with respect. What more could she ask of him tonight, or ever?  
  
'That is all for now, Sandor. You can return to your duties.'  
  
'My lady.' Sandor bowed before letting himself out of Sansa's chambers, leaving the young woman within quietly conflicted.


	17. Swearing Fealty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite all his best efforts, Sandor can't stop thinking about Sansa...

Sandor huffed in annoyance as Daario laughed and postured his way around the training yard. He was an insufferable star-crossed lover these days. Usually, Sandor accepted his exuberance with equanimity. However, he had been such frustratingly joyful company since claiming Daenerys.

'I thought it was a fight you were looking for and not a fucking dance partner!' he bellowed at him, which only made Daario laugh harder.

'Sandor! What ails you, my friend? You would not resent a moving target, would you?'

Sandor swore under his breath. No, it was not a moving target that he resented, and it was not Daario's fault that he was in such a black mood either.

'Alright, I'll make it easier for you, brother. Run at me!' Daario challenged, stopping still and beckoning Sandor forward.

His look of confidence slipped as Sandor charged him, slashing air with his training sword as Daario ducked out of his way. He was further frustrated at missing his mark and swept Daario's feet out from under him in retaliation.

'You grow fiercer by the day. Mayhaps captivity does not suit you, eh?' Daario suggested as he leapt to his feet and dusted off his clothes.

'I fight the same as I ever did.'

'I think not, I have had plenty of time to observe your style if you recall.'

'Aye, and I've had longer still.'

'Maybe you should visit a pleasure house before your shift this evening? Release the poison. You earn good coin, do you not? You can take many girls before the sun goes down. Some may even dance better than me.'

'I thought you did not believe in paying for cunt?'

'Not for myself, perhaps. But I will certainly not judge a man who does.'

'How gallant of you. No, I'll be saving my coin today, I must eat and bathe. Cunt can wait.'

'Are you not satisfied in your new role, Clegane? Worried about getting soft? I can ask our lovely Queen to release you back to the Sons if that's what troubles you?'

'I am well satisfied. Call in no more favours for me, Naharis.'

'The way you're living is not natural. Even for a warrior, you're spending too much time fighting these days.'

'What do you care how I spend my time?' Sandor huffed, parrying with Daario, who was taking their sparring more seriously now.

'You know how love can be.'

'I'm not sure that I do.' Sandor responded, grunting as he blocked Daario's attack and then set him back with a shoulder barge.

'I spend my nights in the throes of passion. Would that I could see you even half so happy, my friend.'

'Happiness doesn't suit everyone.' Sandor claimed, swiftly ducking as Daario aimed a blow straight for his head.

'What the fuck was that? Even a dull blade could break my nose, damn fool!'

'Just trying to knock some sense into you. “Happiness doesn't suit everyone” - ridiculous! Such speech suited the mysterious Stranger, but the conquering hero who guards the future Queen of the North should perhaps smile from time to time, don't you think?'

'Stay out of my business, Naharis, and I'll keep clear of yours.'

'Such a sensitive soul! If you mean to dedicate yourself entirely to battle, then why not prove yourself here and now? How about we drop the weapons? The first man to bleed buys the drinks.'

Naharis dropped his training sword and ran at him. Within seconds, Sandor had ditched his weapon and blocked the first blow from his Captain.

Some of the nearby Unsullied in the yard stopped and watched as the men circled each other, trading and blocking blows, cursing each other and making the dust swirl about their feet.

'You are a mystery to me, Sandor. I know your given name now, but I can't see into your heart. Why do you insist on punishing yourself? And why is it that your cloak smells of flowers? I have always wondered about that.'

Sandor ignored the questions, lashing out and grunting with anger when Daario ducked and danced out of reach.

'You went to Lys in search of pillow slaves, so you're not above paying for release - why not sample the offerings in Meereen? The girls here know their trade well, from what I've heard. Or could it be that you are saving yourself for another?'

They both absorbed a few punches before Sandor caught Daario in the jaw and sent him onto his back.

'Are you alright?' he demanded, feeling somewhat guilty as Daario staggered onto his feet this time.

Daario grinned, his teeth shining bright red. He touched his face experimentally and then spat out a mouthful of blood into the dust along with a molar.

'Ha! It would appear that I will be buying a new gold tooth and a skin of sour red. You may be a bleak fellow, Sandor, but you do make me smile.'

Sandor spent the next hour soaking in a bath with a skin of wine in hand. He swirled his fingers in the water and then considered the bruises already forming on his knuckles.

Perhaps Daario was right. It might have been about time he took his coin to a pleasure house again. It was all Sandor had ever known, and there was an excellent reason for that. He knew that he could not keep denying the only system that had served him in the past.

He resented Daario for demanding those followers put on a show for them both. It had opened his eyes to concepts that he was not ready to understand or experience yet.

Furthermore, he resented the young woman to whom he had pledged his sword and shield. She had his life, his loyalty and his heart, but it seemed she was still not satisfied.

She saw fit to torture him by keeping him so closely bound to what he could never have. He never thought of her as the sadistic sort, so he assumed that she was unaware of the effect she had on him.

It had been weeks since Sansa had offered him a drink, and they had not had many conversations since. For him, it was just another bid for survival. He would die for her, but he refused to let her see the madness she was driving him to.

He blamed it on wine. As he swallowed mouthfuls of the red that Daario had purchased for him, his smile was grim, and he reflected on the fact that she could not be used to it the way he was.

He guessed that she had merely taken a cup too many with the dragon queen that evening. Then Sansa had likely forgotten the impropriety of inviting a man into her chambers at night.  
Who was he to judge her for failing to know her limits anyway?

He had been there too many times, and on several occasions, he had taken his weakness out on her. It shamed him when he recalled the times he had demanded a song from her. There was no blaming such selfish cruelty entirely on wine either, although he had attempted to when it suited him.

Perhaps it was not just wine she was running over with, though? Maybe it was her newfound sense of power that she was half-drunk on that night? After all, he was her loyal subject. If she wanted him to drink her wine or worship her body, who was he to refuse her?

Maybe he should be reminded that he was a supplicant and no more? It could certainly not do him any harm - especially given the dark thoughts Sandor had experienced about her over the past months.

There was even the chance that she was lonely, that she understood what it was like to feel untouched. Maybe if he showed more understanding and loyalty, she would contemplate using him for her comfort and pleasure?

He laughed at the thought, drained the wineskin and threw it across the room, cursing his fruitless desire for her once more. It had always mattered to him that the world saw him as a fierce fighter, skilled with sword or fists.  
Now though, he felt like he was living on borrowed time. If he continued this way, the truth would all come out eventually. Who would fear a man who had been conquered and floored by a pale, northern girl?

Remembering the smell of her red hair still wet from bathing made him long to touch, to grip and hold. To wind those copper strands around his fingers and then his fist – to draw her down onto her knees and ease himself between her lips, showing her how he liked it. Nice and slow.

Every time he saw hot water carried into her chamber, he felt tested. He pictured her floating in fragrant water, an elusive, quicksilver figure in need of an anchor.

Soon these thoughts gave way to others, markedly more violent. He would stand outside her room, hearing muffled conversation and lapping water a wall away and consider barging in on her in this exposed position.

Each faint chorus of laughter from within seemed to test him - he started to contemplate stepping inside, sending out her handmaidens, tipping her out of that bloody bath and fucking her sweet, slippery body into the floor.  
Or maybe, better yet, he could finally taste her? He would see if he could make her scream herself hoarse. The thought of his name on her lips while she peaked always finished him.

He sighed, his hips breaking the surface of the water as he gasped and shot over his stomach. The ending left him drained but ultimately unsatisfied. He cursed again and sank back down into the water, angry and feeling more alone than ever before.

After taking some dinner, Sandor trudged to the private chambers of Lady Sansa Stark, feeling a whole new level of self-loathing as he took up his post.

The alcohol was almost out of his system, but still, he regretted drinking before his shift. The wine did little to calm him now - it just made his mind wander - and that would only bring him grief and vexation.

What kind of fool was he to get himself in this position anyway? Sandor had left a life of peace and solitude in the Quiet Isles to trade in blood and death once more. Now he was serving at the hand of a woman that haunted his dreams. Sansa Stark was a young, beautiful woman who was born to marry well. She was destined for a better life than he could ever give her.

Still, what damage would it cause if she was to take a lover? She had been married before, after all? That damn Imp had got to her before he could, had taken her precious maidenhead.

He knew in Winterfell that a lion would rob her of her innocence, one way or another. It seemed is was written in the stars.

Sandor had envied the dwarf with his entire being after the news reached him of their union. That little wine-sodden bastard did not deserve her any more than he did. He would hate him till the day he died for being gifted her fair hand.

He grimaced at the thought of Tyrion using her body, sharing her bed, and then more likely than not, still seeking the offerings of the Street of Silk while she slept.

An Unsullied guard delivered Sansa to her door. She smiled, bidding him a good evening when he nodded at her and then sealed herself in her chamber.

Eventually, three handmaidens arrived with the water for her bath. The Yunkish girl led them, carrying a decanter of honey wine. Malahar had a knowing smile as she informed Sandor that the lady was expecting them.

Two handmaidens quit the room after an hour, but the Yunkish girl remained - when several hours had elapsed, Sandor assumed that they had retired for the evening.

It was the dead of the night when he heard Sansa cry out. Sandor had heard her pained and anguished often enough to recognise the sound anywhere.

When the noise reached his ears again, a moan low and desperate, he unsheathed his sword and rushed into her chamber without delay.


	18. These Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I'll have that song now, little bird.”- Sandor Clegane's words still haunt Sansa's dreams.

Sansa stood on the stairwell that descended down into the training yard, watching soldiers sparring below. She could spot her guard a mile away. He wore the olive green shirt made especially for him, though sweat had made it darker. She felt her breath hitch at the way it clung to him so.

Sandor seemed to spend all his free hours this way, fighting till he could barely hold his sword up any longer. Every day, he would remain there until he was exhausted and had nothing left to give. The young woman wondered at this. He had always admitted openly to being a killer, and it appeared his instincts were as sharp as they ever were.

She assumed that all this drilling meant he was eager to keep his skills finely honed. Necessary now that he was serving as her sword and shield.

He trained with the Unsullied and supported Ser Barristan in dispensing instructions too, he knew tactics and form, and she could tell that Selmy trusted his advice.

On this particular day, Daario danced about the yard, showing off, swiftly dodging the swings of Sandor's sword. She had insight into his good mood, and he was proud as a peacock as he laughed and strutted about the place.

Sandor, by contrast, was clearly in no mood to be trifled with, and she could feel his rage grow by the second. If Daario were any other man, Sansa would have guessed that he was dancing his way into an early grave.

The words they were exchanging were not audible from her lofty position, but she wished she could hear them. It appeared that Daario was taunting Sandor. The darkening of his brow certainly seemed to suggest as much.

Sansa had almost forgotten how fast Sandor was for such a large man. She released a gasp of shock as he threw down his sword and started to fight Daario with his hands.

Soon, everyone was watching them circle each other. It was hypnotic, two such capable warriors with utterly different body types and combat styles fighting without blades. Every time Sandor roared or released a guttural grunt of effort, Sansa felt her stomach tighten deliciously.

She imagined helping him remove that sweat-drenched shirt, daydreaming about what his skin would taste like, her fantasy interrupted as he suddenly sent Daario flying back into the dust.

For a moment, she grew concerned, but once again, it became clear that all was well between them. The fight both men had indulged in had never had any real danger behind it.

The soldiers parted ways, and as Sandor gathered up his training sword from the floor, he suddenly seemed to sense her presence.

He ignored her as he climbed the stairs, simply nodding when he passed by. Sandor reeked of raw power. The smell of his sweat hit Sansa like a wave and left her feeling oddly weak.

It had been weeks since Sansa had taken a little too much wine and tried to draw him out. She had not meant to make matters worse between them, but it seemed that she had. Furthermore, she felt too embarrassed to invite him back into her chamber.

She had hoped that he would sense her awkwardness and let it all go, but he seemed more withdrawn than ever before. Now he fought like he was possessed - she could not help but feel responsible for his behaviour.

Still, she was a queen in waiting. She could not be dedicating too many hours to thoughts of her guard. Perhaps this would all change eventually - this debilitating desire she was harbouring for him.  
After all, she would be turning sixteen in a few months. It was time she stopped chasing foolish ideas and started acting like a woman.

These were her best intentions anyway - they were discarded and forgotten when she happened to catch his eye outside her chamber that evening. There was a light shining there that she swore meant everything.

Still, though, he did not speak to her or acknowledge her beyond a stiff bow. Sansa decided that company and a cup of honey wine was the best solution to her aggrieved state.   
Sansa had been getting on well with Malahar recently, so she was invited to bring the vintage and warm her bed for the night.

Malahar helped Sansa change into her nightdress and then braided Sansa's hair while singing songs from her youth.

Sansa slept easy at first - Malahar had a lovely voice which helped her drift off quickly. Her dreams were once so carefree and sweet. Now they were something else entirely. When they turned dangerous, Sansa walked right into the mouth of the beast without looking back.

He was there again. Why did he keep coming back? Dark, angry, hateful, man. Why did she insist on drowning in those lusty grey eyes? She should have known better than this. Yet she lay still, waiting, practically keening out for him to touch her and put her out of her misery.

It seemed irrelevant if he was gentle or kind to her, just so long as he shared his body. It would be enough - it would be brutal and perfect. Somehow, she just knew that much and was ready to beg for an end to this torture.

Sandor was not so awful, was he? He had protected her, cared for her. She trusted him with her life, so surely she could trust him to help her see this through?

When his fingers brushed her inner thigh, she gasped, resisted the urge to clamp them shut with fear. Just breathe, let him lead, let him conquer you, she told herself as her heart threatened to beat out of her chest.

When his fingers met the juncture between her thighs, she cried out in shock. His eyes were black as death, and Sandor smiled, seemingly appreciating her response even as he shushed her.

She knew she was wet, feeling this was shameful but already so perfect. The scene was familiar, but this had never happened before! The sensations coursing through her body were what she had been curious about all along. He was so good! So merciful!

The dull ache between her thighs had always confused her. She had tried touching herself there once. Pressing against the heat provided relief, but it was temporary and fleeting. This stimulation was so much better. Sandor stroked his fingers through her wetness, gently stirring that tightening in her stomach, making her writhe and struggle.

Sansa bit her lip and smiled at him. His mouth was cruel as it descended hard on hers. He stole kisses that left her feeling bruised and flushed.

“I'll have that song now, little bird.” he rasped in her ear, sucking hard on her neck. Enough to hurt, to excite and leave bright marks on her body.

'Please don't stop - not again!' Sansa cried out, felt her stomach tighten further, and her legs and face contort.

She had hold of his shirt as he stroked her, gripping at him tightly, refusing to let go until she was satisfied. He murmured, seemingly pleased by how desperate she sounded. She couldn't have cared less. Nothing else mattered while she felt this good.

When he stopped so suddenly, she wanted to cry out in shame and anger. Why? If he had a human heart, then why would he leave her this way?

It took her a moment to realise where she was, not in Kings Landing but her chamber in Meereen instead. She had woken up with a gasp and was horrified to discover that Malahar had her hand between her thighs.   
The Yunkish girl had jumped slightly at the sudden, jarring way Sansa had regained consciousness but then resumed touching her as if nothing had happened.

'What are you doing?' Sansa demanded, outraged, confused and breathless.

'I saw you had started, so I finish...' Malahar replied, peeling open the front of Sansa's nightgown and latching onto one of her breasts before resuming the stroking that had her blood singing in her veins.

Sansa sighed, conflicted and sure that she should be stopping what was happening to her. She couldn't help but moan aloud when the girl pulled harder on her breast, sucking on her nipple until it hurt.

She cried out as her stomach tightened again, her fingers grasped at the bedsheets, contorting and pulling at them as she fought for an end to the dream. An end she felt she desperately needed now. She instinctively knew that it was imminent, and she could have cried with relief at the thought.

Pressing her feet into the mattress, Sansa sobbed and cried out again, moving up against the contact now, shameless and more excited than ever as she felt another lush throbbing, the pleasure poignant and growing by the second.

She was just short of pleading for mercy, for a resolution to this frantic climb when Sandor came crashing into her chamber with his sword drawn.

Sansa, damp with sweat and bleary-eyed, could barely believe in the injustice of it all. He stood silent and still, seemingly dumb-founded as he took in the scene.

For a moment, no-one spoke, and no-one moved. By that point, breathing was a challenge. The tension in the air broke when Sandor finally spoke up, directing his wrath at Malahar. The young woman still had her hand between Sansa's thighs and her mouth firmly attached to her breast.

'What the fuck are you doing to her?' Sandor demanded with a snarl. He sheathed his sword but stood watching them still with eyes flashing fury.

At first, both women remained frozen in place - Sansa moaned for a different reason entirely as the contact was suddenly, cruelly ripped away. Sandor growled in warning until Malahar slipped out from the bed and ran naked from the room without looking back.

A beautiful, moist coral nipple was still exposed from Sansa's nightdress and teased to a peak. Sandor could not tear his eyes from the swell of her breast - the sight breaking him utterly. 

When she remembered herself and pulled the covers up over her chest protectively, he sought her eyes instead. He looked wild as he slammed her door shut.

Sansa paled as he inhaled loudly and deeply, smelling the air in her room that was still so heavily perfumed with her desire. His pupils dilated, and she felt another responding throbbing between her thighs.

'A slaves hand, little bird? Is that how you find release these days?' he demanded then, his smile wide and vicious.

'She is not a slave, and you will not speak to me that way!' she shot back, suddenly so angry that she could have struck him without a hint of remorse.

They stared at each other silently. Sansa thought for one blind, hopeful moment that he might take pity on her fevered state, that he would kiss her hard as he had in the dream.

'It's only proper, eh? Such an appropriate arrangement for a high-born lady. Why sully your own hand, after all?' he demanded as he approached the bed slowly.

Sansa trembled, blushing through and through when she recalled that she had started this. She wondered if she would have been capable of finishing it? It made her want to scream bloody murder that he was the source of her pleasure in her dreams, and now he was the one ripping it away so unceremoniously.

On top of that, he was now shaming her, trying to make her regret what had not yet concluded. It was so cruel, even for him.

'Who asked you to come to me? Get out!' the authority in her voice surprised her. Sansa was terrified, excited, and caught up in an unfamiliar desire. Something dangerous that she'd never felt before, a unique need that his presence only aggravated.

She had a sudden perverse desire to continue what she'd started while he watched her. Or maybe she should pull the covers back and demand that he finish this himself with those hard, huge, manly hands.

“I'll have that song now, little bird.”

The reality of the situation or her angry words seemed to rouse Sandor's senses. He shook his head as though trying to wake himself from a dream.

His breaths were still coming fast, but he paused in his approach, standing still, his fists clenched and shaking by his sides. He stared at the floor, seemingly steeling his resolve, reaching a silent decision as he turned and left without another word.

These dreams were dangerous, never more so than on that evening. Sansa turned onto her side, allowing hot tears to soak her pillow. She sobbed with longing and anger. In her heart, Sansa knew she could never let this happen again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was partly inspired by the cabin scene between Daenerys and Irri in 'A Storm of Swords.'


	19. Surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor reaches his limit.

Sandor Clegane knew that he had to make a change, it wasn't like him to make a grand declaration or to take a stand, but now he felt that he had no choice in the matter. He needed to do something, anything to get out of this impossible situation he now found himself living in.

It was one thing to be attracted to the woman in his care, but what was building on his part was no longer basic desire.

She was blossoming before his eyes, and he was a helpless bystander, desperate to know her body, to learn from her, to take all that she cared to give.

It was no good, none of it. Sandor knew well enough when he was fighting a losing battle, and he was ready to admit as much to her before the situation grew any more desperate.

So, when his shift started at sundown the day after their last confrontation, he waited until the Unsullied guard that he relieved was well clear before knocking at her chamber door.

Sansa bid him enter and then flushed at the sight of him, setting aside the garment that she'd been working on and giving him her full attention though it pained her to do so.

'What is it that you want?' she demanded finally, Sansa's patience seemingly worn through. Fighting the urge to be defensive was beyond her powers.

'I want you to release me, Lady Stark.'

'What do you mean?'

'I would return to the camp of the Second Sons as soon as possible.'

'But why? I don't understand - you said you were honoured to be my guard.'

'Aye, and I am, but this is not the right place for me. I no more belong here than I did in Kings Landing.'

'Yet you dedicated the majority of your life to serving under the Lannisters. You last less than a month when guarding me? I suppose it is the life of blind servitude that you miss? Being treated like a lowly dog...'

'It's not the Lannister's that I miss. Aside from a night in the dungeon, they have treated me very well here. I thought you would never be the one to kick me - that is all.'

'Why do you say such things? If anyone has a right to feel injured, it's me!'

'You feel injured?'

'Yes, you judge me still. I feel you. When I try to do what you have done throughout your life, it is a scandal, and you bring shame to my door.'

Sandor reflected on the fairness in her claim, taking a deep breath to steady himself before responding. She was already upset, and tensions were running high without him losing his temper as well.

'Don't you understand, girl? You make me weak, I am a miserable, commonplace sinner, but I don't deserve this!' he gruffed, all intention and hope to remain calm now abandoned and forgotten.

'Why would I be surprised? You are cruel and ungrateful! I pray for you, I hope for you, and in my dreams-'

'What?' Sandor frowned, confused at where she had left off. Sansa turned her face to the wall and said no more, shaking her head emphatically.

'You don't deserve to be my friend! You're cold and hard, so you should return to those sellswords. Live and die in that filthy camp if it suits you.'

'There are men here better suited to caring for you.'

'I wanted you! A trusted friend who would share my concerns, who knew about my pain the way I know of yours.'

'If you were better acquainted with my pain, then we wouldn't even be having this conversation. You would have turned me away on the Quiet Isle. Were you not desperate, I think you would have had sense enough to do so. The way you did the night of the Blackwater.'

'Will you insist on throwing that in my face forever? I was a child, a foolish girl who didn't know any better. You were shaking, covered in vomit and blood yet still, every day since I wondered what would have happened if I'd joined you. Worried that I'd made the wrong decision in staying.'

'You made the right decision that night, trust me. Child or no, you were wiser than I was.'

'Wise? The stupid little bird that you see fit to mock?'

'Aye, if you think that you made a mistake in refusing to flee Kings Landing with me, then you're a bigger fool than I thought. Still, if you're stupid, what does that make the man who would lay down his life for you? Who followed you halfway around the world in a vain bid to finally become the hero you needed years ago.'

'I need you still.'

'You don't need me - you need someone else. You know good men exist, but I am not one of them. You want the world to treat you like a woman, don't you? Find someone worthy of you.'

'Why are you speaking this way again? I thought we were friends.' Sansa broke down and started crying into her hands, and Sandor felt his will lagging but carried on regardless.

'I'm just trying to get you to see me as I am. What do you think would have happened if we'd run away together, Sansa? Do you think I'd have delivered you to your Aunt Lysa? Do you think I would have taken the fastest road to your brothers camp? Even after I've admitted that I wished to use you the way everyone else has, you still hang about me. Innocent or no, what did you think would have happened besides the campfire at night? Did you think I'd let you rest easy in the woods without taking my fair share?'

'I thought you would kiss me again, maybe...'

'Again? Where are you getting this from?'

'You kissed me in my chamber the night the blackwater burned.'

'No, I didn't. No doubt it's just another one of your silly, bloody stories. I never took what I wanted from you that night. Do you think if I had, I would have stopped at one kiss?'

'Are you trying to frighten me?'

'Gods! You're more stubborn than I am. I have told you not to trust me, that I can't continue this way – there is nothing more to say.'

'I don't release you!' she replied, standing up then, her eyes flashing fire and defiance.

'What?'

'I said that I don't release you. You swore a vow to me, and I would not release you from it. I will not let you abandon me for a second time.'

'Little bird, if you care for me at all, you'll let me go.'

'I don't care for you - I hate you! You should stay here until you hate me too.'

He laughed at the notion, though he looked liable to cry too as he approached her slowly with his hands held out in surrender.

'You would kick me then? I thought you were different, Sansa.'

'I thought you were too, but it's as you said. You just wished to use me, as everyone else has.'

'Last night, I realised something.'

'What is that?'

'That if I don't get away from here, then I will dishonour us both. I can't live with these thoughts any more. I had almost conquered them in the Quiet Isles, but then you found me again, didn't you? It was like all those months of penance never happened.'

'I thought you did not believe in the Gods? Why would a man without faith repent?'

'I had not prayed for many years, but I tried there. I didn't expect atonement or peace of mind. I just acknowledged that I was sorry for the innocents I had killed, the purity I would have stolen from you...'

'If we are to make confessions, then tell me truly, if Malahar had not been in my chambers last night and I had come to you, admitted that I was lonely, what then? Would you still be asking to leave me?'

Sandor fell silent, frustrated to the extreme. Why did she have to ask all the right questions? Questions he was in no mind to answer.

'I would likely have stayed with you as long as you'd have kept me. Is that all that happened last night then? You were lonely, and missing the touch of your dwarf husband?' he became hostile and bitter so suddenly, and at those words, she struck him hard.

'Don't you ever speak to me like that again!'

'Or what?' he jeered as he rubbed his good cheek, the skin sang from her touch, and he found himself, once again, unwillingly aroused.

Sansa's bottom lip trembled. She believed herself justified in lashing out when he would insist on provoking her. Still, she felt awful for hurting anyone, especially him. She swiped at the tears on her cheeks but did not trust herself to speak any more.

'That cunt Baelish did a fine job with you, didn't he? You spin lies with such ease. You know what's going on here, I think you've always known. You've grown into nothing more than a high born tease. Summoning me in here to drink with you at night, looking on while I used that whore in Lys. Aye, I know you lingered, deny it, why don't you? Let's hear one more lie before I go...'

'I stayed, what of it?'

'What of it? Did you like what you saw there then?'

'Yes.' she replied honestly. Sandor was aghast, felt angrier still at how successfully she'd shut down the scornful words he had intended to deliver next.

'You liked watching a pillow slave suck my cock, did you?'

'No, I liked watching you lose control.' Sansa admitted, turning her face up to him then, relentless and yielding no ground.

She gasped as he unsheathed his sword and threw it to the ground with a clatter. He huffed, nostrils flaring, looking like a caged animal willing to break himself in a bid for freedom.

'You must let me go.' he begged one final time as he crossed the room and cradled her face in his hands. When he kissed her, it was exactly like her dream, passionate and almost painful.

'I will not.' she went on, defiant to the end as he pressed his mouth to the curve of her neck and wound his arms around her waist. Now they were both trapped with no way out, and he was going to make her pay for trusting him.

'Gods, I'd give anything...' he moaned against her ear, kissing wherever he could. One hand explored her hair before gripping it, almost tearing some out at the roots.

Sansa accepted some frantic, rather artless kisses from him, responding in turn when he picked her up and encouraged her to wrap her legs around his waist.

Sandor staggered to the wall, already almost doubled over with need. He was mindful of their respective builds as he pressed her into the surface. Sansa could feel his restraint but wanted none of it, caught up as she was in the sheer size and strength of him, it made her want to give herself over there and then.

He was hard, and he could feel the heat of her through her skirts - any attempts to fight his desire were all over. He would take her, ruin her there and then and not stop to feel regretful until she was used up and undone forever.

'You want me to fuck you? Do you want that? I'll fuck you all night.' he insisted, as he reached down to loosen his belt. Sansa was suddenly scared of how fast this was progressing. She wanted him, wanted to know his body at long last, but did not feel confident enough to say yes.

Sandor was lost to the world, hoping that now was the time to see this through. He trusted her to tell him to stop.

The door sounding nearby stopped them still. Sandor considered covering her mouth and fucking into her anyway, but he knew better than that.

After letting her regain her footing, he stepped away from her, swallowing mouthfuls of air. Suddenly he saw the madness of the situation. Sandor ran a hand through his hair, ashamed all over again. What had he done? Furthermore, what was he about to do before this timely interruption?

Sansa knew it was more than likely an Unsullied officer inviting her to dine with Daenerys. It was usually around this time the Queen would send out such a request if she was not otherwise engaged.

She cast an eye over her form in a looking glass, smoothed out her skirts and tried to steady herself. Sandor was hanging nearby, face dark and conflicted as she smiled at him nervously.

Answering the door did reveal two Unsullied guards, a fact that she found rather strange for one reason. Usually, Daenerys only sent one man to fetch her.

'My beloved wife, you look lovelier than ever! Queen Daenerys has bestowed upon me the great honour to accompany you to dinner this evening.'

Sansa lowered her gaze and was shocked to meet the mismatched eyes of her husband. There, awaiting her response and with a hand extended out in invitation, was Tyrion Lannister.


	20. Dragon's Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion Lannister sits down to dinner with Daenerys and her circle. Truths are revealed that could compromise the building romance between Sansa and Sandor...

Sansa could barely contain her shock, convinced that her eyes were deceiving her. Tyrion wore a satisfied smile, seemingly finding her disbelief more than a little amusing.

'My Lord? How - when?'

'It seems we have a lot to catch up on. I am sure on some minor level you have missed me, too? I was not, after all, such a brutish husband was I?'

Sansa could think of no appropriate response, suddenly all too aware of Sandor hidden in her chambers, no doubt hearing every word of this.

'You were never cruel, my Lord.' she admitted, though venturing no lies of having missed him.

'Imagine my surprise when Illyrio brought me here, and I discovered that my child bride was already in residence? Though not such a child, any longer it would seem. You seem so much taller than me now, but then again, you always did.'

Sansa smiled a little unwillingly at his silly joke. It appeared that he was trying to calm her, and she appreciated the effort.

'Will you do me the great pleasure of accompanying me to the dining hall?'

'I will, of course.'

'I would speak with you first – in private.'

'You found me in conversation with my guard.' Sansa blushed as Tyrion nodded, looking like he had already somehow guessed everything that had transpired that evening.

'Most convenient. The Queen said that Clegane is to dine with us as well. How I long to see him again! To hear exactly how it is that he's managed to reach such great heights in social standing, dining with Queens and fine ladies, indeed...'

Sansa swallowed a response, feeling fearful as she led Tyrion into her chamber. The Unsullied officers in attendance followed the pair inside.

Sandor had reclaimed his sword. His brow was stormy, and his gaze, cold and exacting as he eyed the youngest Lannister with mistrust. 

Sansa wondered how he would speak, especially given the charged moment that Tyrion had just interrupted.

'Why! Isn't this quite the little reunion? I am here to invite you to dine with me, Clegane. Not words I ever thought would pass my lips, but so it is.'

'How the fuck is it you came to be here?' Sandor rasped, his jaw clenched and his body stiff now.

'A tale I would tell you in great detail over a barrel of wine. Several if I have any say in the matter. Also, a question I might direct to the man I have not seen since he abandoned his post during the siege of the capital...'

'We must not keep the Queen waiting.' Sansa harped up helpfully, seeing how close Sandor was to losing his temper and lashing out.

'A diplomatic notion. I swear you are the image of the maiden herself now, Sansa. If Queen Daenerys decides against taking my head for a trophy, we must adjourn here tonight to have that private chat. 

I confess I am still astonished to find you here. I did not know you were so enterprising as all that! Indeed, I half wish you'd brought me with you when you escaped on the day of Joffrey's wedding.   
It would have saved me a great deal of trouble, though I would have missed out on a lifetimes worth of revenge.   
Bringing the faithful Lannister dog with you as a personal guard too, that was a nice touch!'

'He is not a dog.' Sansa clipped, walking away as she felt her temper flaring and hearing the men trailing close behind her.

'Sansa. I hope you were not too distressed by this surprise. Lord Tyrion requested to invite you personally, and given your personal history - I felt bound to grant him this favour.' Daenery's spoke gently to her when they met at the table.

'It was of little consequence to me.' Sansa admitted as she took her seat.

The party was small and intimate, but there were plenty of guards in attendance that evening. Selmy and Sansa were seated to the left and right of Daenerys. Tyrion was shown to a seat beside Daario and Sandor beside Missandei.

'Well, unless there is poison in my wine, this is a great deal more hospitality than I expected to receive on my first visit here. I rather thought it might be my last too if you read my meaning.' Tyrion spoke first, readily lifting his goblet to his lips.

'It is clear enough.' Daenery's said cooly, though Sansa could tell that she found his manner of speech quite engaging, as she always had herself.

Sandor was silent and distracted as he tucked into his wine. He was thinking of many things at that moment, namely that it was just so fitting that he had been confined to a dungeon, whereas the Lannister imp was enjoying fine wine and a hot meal.

Sansa wondered if everyone could read her innermost thoughts, as Tyrion had appeared to, outside of her chamber. She knew it was likely all in her head, but she remained silently paranoid nonetheless.

She spent the duration of her meal stealing occasional glances at Sandor, aching for him. Wondering if she would have let him take her had they not been interrupted.

Sansa hardly knew herself, although she had been, and still was, sorely tempted to let him have his way. It appeared to be so easy to be carried under by desire. That fact alone was an unsettling revelation to her.   
How gratifying it had been to touch him at last! To feel his heavy body in its entirety trapping hers to the wall.   
She remembered how natural it had seemed to wrap her legs around his waist and was suddenly desperate to be alone with him again.

How was it that she could be seated at a table with her husband, and she felt nothing at all for him? Whereas Sandor inspired such strange needs that she could barely begin to understand.

'Tell me then, Tyrion Lannister, why it is that I should not simply feed you to my dragons?' Daenerys asked a direct question when dessert arrived at the table. Tyrion seemed to find it an amusing thought.

'Well, for a start, noble Queen, it would surely be a small meal for even a young dragon.'

'They are almost fully grown, and they are loyal to a fault.'

'It would be an exciting end - I don't doubt that. When my time comes, I fear there are not many good deeds to attribute to my name.   
Death by dragons would at least be a notable closing chapter to my humble existence. I confess it was one I always hoped for as well! We are yet too unfamiliar with each other for you to grant me such great favours...'

'It would appear that your husband likes the sound of his voice.' Daenerys declared to Sansa with a lift of her eyebrow. Sansa didn't like feeling that she had any claim on him or his manner of speech. 

'He is a wise man, your Grace. When he is sober, at least...'

'I see the time we've spent apart has put some fire in you! You were very near perfect as it was. I almost wish I were worthy of you, lady Stark.' Tyrion announced then, casting an admiring eye over Sansa.

'You speak with a honeyed tongue, and you force me to speak plainly. Why have you come here? To reclaim Sansa Stark as your bride?'

'If I can convince you of anything tonight, then let it be that I did not know of her presence here. Finding her under your care was a wonderful surprise. I am wanted for regicide. My family would also see me put to death for the crime of murdering my father. One crime I can lay claim to, the other I cannot. Both amount to high treason.'

'You did not murder the usurper?' Daenerys demanded doubtfully.

'I did not, though many times I would have liked to have seen him strung up. For the way, he treated my wife, and her bloodline alone...'

'Why is it that you have come so far to drink my wine then? After all, you are still a Lannister, so you must have known that I would not trust you. Did you come only to seek sanctuary?'

'I am a Lannister in name only, fair Queen. The enemy of mine enemy, and the like. Besides which, you have welcomed a Clegane and a Stark into your midst, so I dare to hope that I might have a chance of dodging Dragon's breath.'

'Don't expect to be judged by the same standards as Sandor Clegane, nor the future Queen of the North. They have earned their place here, in my trust and my care. You have not. I have heard little of you except what your wife has chosen to disclose to me.'

'All excellent things, I would assume?' Tyrion toasted Sansa, and Daario barked a laugh at his front.

'He is rather amusing! I would take him back to the camp if you have no further use of him, sweet Queen. The sons would provide him with a new home at a reasonable price.   
I warn you though imp, my brothers don't always appreciate a joke the way I do.' Naharis took a drink and eyed him with interest.

'I've kept company with sell-swords. Also, being raised a Lannister, I was taught to believe that every man had their price. Maybe they will see in me, a brother in arms?   
I did lead the charge at the battle of Blackwater, where the enemy briefly met my axe but kept my nose. I fear I never was so very handsome, to begin with, though I do rather miss it.'

'Why should the Queen provide shelter for you? You might be here on your sister's orders. Or in a bid to make amends with her.' Selmy spoke up at last, chiefly silent until that time.

'You served the Lannisters too, and yet here you are, Lord Commander of the Queen's guard. I know you to be a man of honour, Ser Barristan. I trust, for all my faults, you would not assume that I am as corrupt as my family.'

'A wanted criminal, a self-professed kinslayer, and accused kingslayer. You would certainly be in good company, wouldn't you?

Born to a family who had no claim to the throne, who would order the execution of helpless babes, and torture innocent, young girls for the whole court to see. If I had so little regard for guest rights as the Lannisters, then I would kill you here and now and save the dragons such a puny, wine-soaked morsel. Besides which, as long as you are married to Sansa Stark, you and your family still have a claim to the North.'

Sansa Stark lowered her head at Ser Barristan's sharp words, not at being reminded of her torture, but the memory of the red wedding suffocated her in sadness and always would.   
Sensing as much, the older man leaned across the table and settled a hand atop hers.

'Forgive me, my Lady.' he implored, with calm dignity. Sansa smiled at his kindness.

'That brings me to my next point. You are not welcome here so long as you are married to Sansa Stark. She has herself expressed an interest in severing your union once and for all.   
If you were to agree to take this step, then we might begin to negotiate together but not a moment sooner.'

'I quite understand, she was unwilling to marry me, and I would have seen fit to release Lady Sansa of her vows long ago.'

'Lady Sansa was inspected by a maester after arriving here. He confirmed that she is yet a yet maiden. You never claimed her.'

Sandor had been helping himself to more wine before this announcement caused him to knock over his goblet. He hardly even noticed as much - not acknowledging the slip up even as the blood-red wine soaked into the fine, white table cloth.

A serving girl stepped forward and cleaned up after him. He seemed entirely displaced, and everyone took in his moment of awkwardness with some surprise. That was, everyone except Tyrion, who appeared to have some clear feelings on the matter.

When handed another goblet of wine, Sandor took several deep mouthfuls, trying to calm his nerves and unsure if that was at all possible.

Sansa could not meet his eyes though sorely she wished to. She knew that this would have come as the greatest surprise to him.

'By the law of the land, she is not your wife.' Selmy spoke up then, driving the conversation forward and thankfully diverting attention away from Sandor.

'Yes, and if you agree to an annulment of your marriage, then we can speak of terms, but until then, I will not hear or trust a word you say.'

'A fair demand. I would see it done too, if for no other reason than to do right by Lady Stark. She has suffered as much as any of us. If not more, because she had to keep to me, and my bed, for all those months...'

'Enough jokes, if you care for your own life, and Sansa – you will agree to my demand.'

'I agree. By all means, let us see to it tonight if it should please you. I would, however, have one small request to make in the meantime.'

'And what is that?'

'That you choose another man to guard the future Queen of the North.'

'He was deemed suitable to guard the pretender King, was he not?'

'Yes, but I would not have a woman even remotely considered my wife to have a turncloak as a guard, a deserter who abandoned his city when it needed him the most.'

Before Sandor could respond to this slight, Sansa turned her gaze on Tyrion. Even before she spoke - her fury was tangible.

'Sandor Clegane has done more for my safety and my blood than you can ever begin to understand. For all your family's attempts to snuff out even the memory of the Starks from this world, I, at least, still live because he has a noble heart.

You have no right to decide who should be watching over me, I have spoken only well of you up to this point, but if you dishonour my sword and shield again, then I would gladly feed you to the dragons myself and consider that too merciful an end for you.

Your Grace, I will not have any conversation with Tyrion without Sandor Clegane in attendance. Also, I would ask you to disregard his request in its entirety.'

'Fire, indeed.' Daario purred, filling his and Sansa's goblets and then toasting her with a wry smile.

The rest of the party sat silently in the wake of Sansa's passionate declaration. The sheer conviction behind her words shocked Sandor more than anyone else.

He intended to respond to Tyrion's slight, though the request did suit his needs in many ways. Quitting his role as her guard was what he'd been attempting before Tyrion had arrived earlier after all.

However, Sansa got in there first and defended him with true vehemence he could hardly believe. He failed to grasp how he'd manage to inspire such devotion in her. How was it such a woman cared if Sandor lived or died? How could it be that she cared more for his name and character than he ever had?

'Lady Sansa makes her own decisions now, Tyrion of House Lannister. Sandor has earned his right to be seated at this table and guard my friend and ally. He is the sword she has chosen, and so he will remain. Once this annulment is declared legally, then you should worry about proving your worth to us. You would do well to remember that Dragon's breath brings death as final as any other.  
I suggest you take heed of this warning. Dragons are not a force to be trifled with, nor are Queens.'


	21. Untouched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor and Sansa speak privately about her innocence and what this will mean for them...

The silence that persisted between Sansa and Sandor was deafening. They were both desperate to be alone together again after a dinner that had felt endless.

Despite knowing hundreds of reasons to deny her, to keep as far away as possible, Sandor stepped straight into her room when she gestured that he should enter.

'I can't stay long.' was his only words of defence - he knew he was helpless, and the knowledge made his heart race.

'I would ask only that you sit with me and take that wine now.'

'One cup, I thank you.' he accepted the goblet, already having taken his fill at dinner but feeling obliged to down more to survive this exchange.

'You have questions, I suppose.' she began first, smiling inwardly at how huge he looked perched on an ornate bench at the end of her bed.

She pulled a stool up close to him, a little disheartened when he lowered his eyes and stared at his wine for long moments. Sansa thought of their time in the tent together again. Remembering how she had woken briefly sometime before dawn, and she had dared to watch him sleeping.

He had looked peaceful, unburdened, and so much younger. Sansa had felt an overwhelming need to hold him at that moment. To kiss his eyelids, to bid him dream on – hoping that wherever he was during his rest was a place of contentment.  
More than anything, though, she wished she could help him look so at ease during his waking hours. What joy that would bring her.

'None that would suit my purpose.'

'What is your purpose?'

'To claim you.' he admitted before he could stop himself. Sansa gasped quietly at this admission - drawing his gaze finally. He looked like he was suffering agony. When she reached out to touch his hand, he did not recoil, but he did shake his head defiantly.

'I won't abandon you, little bird, but I have no right to be in here at night. I want you so badly, and you should know better than to toy with a man's heart.' 

She stood, smiling gravely as she then settled down into his lap and made him groan with disbelief.

'What did I just say?'

'I am not toying with you. I would wish to claim you, too.'

'We both know why that can never be.'

'Why not?'

'I can't take the hand of a Queen in waiting. Sansa, you should have told me about your innocence. How could you let me say such things to you? I would have taken you up against that wall...'

Sansa struggled over her words, feeling conflicted now. She wanted to tell him the truth about what had happened earlier, that she'd been uncertain even in the heat of the moment. Yet, still, she was afraid.

'I thought if you knew I was a maiden, you would treat me differently. I don't feel like a child any longer...'

He shook his head at those words, placing his goblet on the floor and casting his eyes over her body.

'You've got the shape of a woman now. That much is true. I can't treat you like I would any other woman, though, Sansa. You know why, don't you?'

'You think I should save myself for marriage. As Baelish so dearly wished.'

'Don't compare me to that whoreson!' he growled suddenly, making her smile. She liked his rough voice and the way his eyes flashed when his blood was up. It made her oddly hopeful at that moment, too.

'I would never compare you to him.'

'Perhaps I would deserve it. It sounds like that cunt desired you as well...'

'When he touched me - it made my skin crawl, your touch brings me back to life. I feel like I was frozen before you found me again. Forgotten by everyone, buried beneath the silent snow, so close to death. Your hands are like sunlight on my skin, your kiss like drawing air again.'

'You shouldn't say such things.'

'I will stop if you kiss me again.'

'No, because I won't stop.' he warned, looking dangerous again. Sansa felt her stomach tighten as he stirred below her. She knew he was ready once more. Then came powerful needs.   
Sansa envisioned straddling his hips, taking him inside of herself. No matter what the cost, she was sure it would bring her happiness.

'What if I command it?' she asked then, smiling and stroking patterns over the hand he had tethering her to his body. It gripped her thigh almost painfully, as though her stroking was breaking his resolve.

'I will kill for you, Sansa but don't ask me to take what isn't mine. I will be hurting you more than you know.'

'Are there not other ways that I could please you? Like the woman in Lys...'

'Like the whore you mean?'

'Does it matter what she is?'

'Aye.'

'I should like to learn how – if you were to teach me-'

'Stop! Gods, hush now! You'll learn nothing from me!' he warned, heaving a breath of frustration.

'You said that you would always be honest with me.'

'What of it? Have I not been honest tonight?'

'Yes, you say you will not instruct me, but I would ask questions...'

'Seven help me.' he muttered under his breath but did not refuse her outright. She took the silence that followed as consent.

'When she did that to you, how was there room – in her mouth?'

He was feeling torn between laughing and throwing her off his lap - he knew he should stop while he still could. She was so pure still. How had he not seen this? His urges would have him recognise what he wanted to see.

She felt shy asking, and he felt for her as she blushed. He was more concerned for himself when she twisted a little and shifted in his lap. Her squirming was as dangerous as her questions.

'Would she hold her breath? Like swimming?' she went on, sounding almost fretful now, the blush extending down her neck.

'She would breathe through her nose.' he responded quietly, unable to resist the urge to stroke her lovely bottom lip as he admitted as much.

He hissed when she kissed his fingertip and then parted her lips. It was all wrong but inevitable that he should start to push his forefinger slowly inside the heat of her mouth.

After pushing up to his first knuckle, he dragged it back out, relishing the silky friction. Then he heaved a desperate sigh, so good, that heat, that blinding heat.

'My tongue?' she whispered, the question turning his eyes black.

'Yes, use that – always...' he murmured, grimacing as she lapped at his fingertip and then voluntarily drew him back inside the soft, scorching confines of her mouth. This time she wrapped her tongue around the length of him, twirled, danced and teased him.

He retracted soon after, aching with need, pulling her down against his groin and trying to ease the tension there. Then he stole another kiss, surprised when she used her tongue again, it was impossible to refuse her, and the new contact broke his resolve.

She had never heard anything quite so gratifying as the abandoned noises he made as their tongues battled each other.

'Come now.' he huffed, pulling away just long enough to help her move from across his lap to astride him. A woman had never been close to him in this way before. It felt strange but overwhelmingly erotic.

Sansa moaned low in her throat when she felt his arousal digging deep into the heat between her thighs. She knew that she was wet, like in her dreams. She knew why now, wondered if it would still hurt when she felt such readiness for him.

'I can't stop.' he muttered against her mouth between suffocating kisses.

'Then don't.' she heard herself uttering, sounding so wanton even to her ears. She wondered who this girl was who was sitting astride this strong, grown man. This girl who ached at her core, who thought endlessly of acts that bewildered and enticed her. Was she ready? She hadn't been so sure earlier, so what had changed since then?

'I must. I must!' Sandor gripped onto her hips and pulled her roughly against him several times before casting her away, breaking the contact between them.

They gasped, breathing harshly against each other's mouths as he vied for control again. It would be so easy. Sansa knew he would make her happy that she'd chosen him, so why wait?

'I came here to speak to you. Off now, girl. Off!' he barked, his words were harsh, but he was gentle as he helped her onto her feet again.

'Sit! Let us finish this talk while I still have my wits...' he ran a hand over his hair, looking fit to burst as he picked up his goblet and sipped deeply from it.

Sansa was admittedly disappointed as she took up her cup and resumed her seat. It was uncomfortable now. She squeezed her thighs together and tried to damp down the needs surging through her body.

'So, Tyrion Lannister never touched you? Is that the truth of it?'

'He never took me, no.'

'Did he do anything to you?'

'No.'

'Not in all those months...so, it has now come to this, has it? I must measure my strength against a dwarf!' Sandor laughed bitterly to himself and drained his wine.

'He said he would not touch me until I wanted him to.'

Sandor stopped laughing suddenly, looking ashamed again as he set his cup down.

'So, has any man touched you at all?'

'A singer named Marillion in the Eerie, a wicked man. He tried to touch me - saying I had inspired him to write a ballad. Then he said that he wished to sing to me with his body.'

Sansa saw Sandor's eyes darken again, seemingly for a different reason this time. She hastened to assure him that Marillion never got the opportunity to lay hands on her.

'I have known the touch of no-one, not even myself. Not exactly, anyway. What happened with Mallahar...' Sansa blushed, still too upset and embarrassed to speak freely about that night.

'She did not force you, did she?' Sandor looked alerted then, his jaw set hard as he awaited her answer.

'No, she said that I had – in my sleep – I did not know of this, of course, she said she would finish for me...'

Sandor looked down at his own hands. Sansa watched as he examined them. He appeared to be looking for some answers there though she could not fathom what they might be.

'I did not want her to touch me, but I did not stop her, either. It felt nice. In the dreams, it felt good and then it stopped. I thought that maybe this time, I would find out how the dream ended.'

'What did you dream of?' Sandor asked what he knew could very well be a fatal question, and he got his answer, swift and brutal, striking him right in the heart.

'Our wedding night. I was abed with you.' she admitted, unable to meet his eye now. Instead, she watched as he pressed his hands together, as he gripped and twisted at them. Almost like praying, but he did not do that, did he?

'Everyone who has tried to place hands on you was wrong to do so, Sansa. Especially me. For I know you better than those others, or rather I thought I did.'

'I suppose you have laid with many women?' she asked then, sounding not jealous but curious.

Sandor thought of nights in wine sinks, blinding drunk, exchanging coin for cunt. Finding a darkened corner or a room and loosening his breeches but never stripping.

He would follow the heat between the whore's thighs, spitting on his hand as he worked himself to readiness because Sandor was not a cruel man, and he never expected a soul to want him.

Fucking slow and then so hard and fast, aiming to find relief quickly, willing it to be over so that he could disappear back inside himself. Needing and fearing no-one, once again. The way he had always been. He had never laid with anyone, as such.

'There were many women.' he attested, not meeting her eye as he admitted as much.

'Did you love them?' she asked, and then he laughed - a harsh, incredulous sound.

'Not for a moment. And were you any other maid, you would have bled for me long ago.'

Sansa fell silent at those words. She had almost forgotten that this would be a result of losing your maidenhead. Sansa's septa and her mother had warned her that it was natural to feel pain - even bleed a little, when being taken for the first time. They had never specified exactly how much, though. They left that and so much more up to her imagination.

'No more wine, little bird.' he declared solemnly, sounding contrite as he rose from his seat - and then let himself out of her chamber again. Sansa looked after him, wondering what she might have done or said differently to make him stay.


End file.
